She  FALL  of  the  CURTAIN 


HAROLD  BEGBIE 


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THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 


The 
Fall  of  the  Curtain 

By  HAROLD   BEGBIE 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 
C.  ALLAN  GILBERT 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 
Publishers  New  Tork 


COPYRIGHTED  igoi 

BY 

THE  BOWEN-MERRILL  COMPANY 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    THE  LETTER  BAG 9 

II.    THE  CHRISTMAS  FROLIC       ....  20 

III.  HANNAH  MAKES  HER  FIRST  ENTRANCE  ON 

THE  LARGER  SCENE         ....  29 

IV.  INTRODUCES  THE  READER  AND  Miss  MERSEY 

TO  THE  RIGHT  HONORABLE  THE  COUN- 
TESS OF  MANE 45 

V.    IN  QUEST  OF  GOBLINS           ....  55 
VI.    THE   READER  FINDS   HIMSELF  IN    SMART 

SOCIETY             66 

VII.    HANNAH'S    FORTUNES    TAKE   A    STRANGE 

TURN 79 

VIII.    IN  WHICH  HANNAH  PLAYS  A  GREAT  PART  96 

IX.    BREAKING  UP 109 

X.    AN  OPEN  ENEMY 122 

XL    HANNAH  SEES  POYNTZ  THROUGH  DIFFERENT 

SPECTACLES 132 

XII.    Miss  MERSEY  PACKS  UP  HER  BOXES    .       .  150 

XIII.  REVEALS  LORD  MANE  IN  A  RELIGIOUS  MOOD  162 

XIV.  IN  WHICH  LORD  MANE'S  RELIGIOUS  MOOD 

RECEIVES  A  VIOLENT  CHECK    .       .       .  174 

XV.    CRISIS 187 

XVI.    IN  WHICH  MRS.  MERSEY  PAYS  A  MORNING 

CALL 199 

XVII.    FIXING  THE  DAY 219 

XVIII.    THE  CURTAIN  RINGS  UP       .       .       .       .232 
XIX.    IN    WHICH    HANNAH    GREATLY    DISTIN- 
GUISHES   HERSELF              ....  252 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTEB 

XX.  HANNAH  LEAVES  THE  STAGE,  AND  MOPES 

THE  WINGS 

XXI.  IN  WHICH  TIMOTHY  BUDGE  HANGS  OUT 

UNION  JACK 

XXII.  BREAKING  THE   ICE      .... 

XXIII.  THE  WHISPER  OF  HELL 

XXIV.  STORM  

XXV.  KYN'S  WAY 

XXVI.  KYN'S  WAY 

XXVII.  KYN  COMES  TO  THE  RESCUE 

XXVIII.  THE  PRODIGAL  SON       .... 

XXIX.  THE  CURTAIN  FALLS    .... 

XXX.  "THE  SHOT  WHICH  BRINGS  HER  DOWN" 


IN 


PAGE 

274 

286 
297 
311 
324 
341 
350 
363 
384 
396 
400 


'And  now  the  hand  of  fate  is  on  the  curtain 

DON  SEBASTIAN 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 


THE   LETTER  BAG 

CHRISTMAS  DAY,  good  reader.  Morning 
service  in  the  village  church  was  over,  and 
old  Gregory  Brough,  his  wife,  and  his  callow  brood 
were  trooping  over  the  snow-covered  fields  of 
Poyntz  Park  on  their  way  home  to  dinner.  Squire 
Brough  was  a  jolly  tubby  little  fellow,  carrying  his 
sixty  years  as  lightly  as  a  babe  astride  of  a  rocking- 
horse  carries  cocked  hat  and  tin  sword.  His  beam- 
ing red  face  and  white  hair  gave  him  a  character 
that  his  heart  did  not  belie.  As  good  a  squire  as 
ever  farmed  English  acres  and  proved  friend-in- 
need  to  the  people  on  his  estate  was  honest  old 
Gregory;  and  though  his  income  had  steadily  de- 
clined as  his  olive  branches  multiplied  round  about 
his  table  he  kept  a  stout  heart  to  the  world  and 
faced  the  future  with  as  breezy  a  courage  as  ever 
Sir  Geoffrey  Peveril  bore  into  conflict  against  ken- 
nel-blooded, clip-eared,  cuckoldy  Roundheads. 

"Think  you  that  letter  will  come  to-day,  Jane?" 
he  demanded  of  his  wife  in  a  stage  whisper. 

9 


10  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

"I  hope  it  may,  dear  Gregory.  I  sincerely  hope 
it  may." 

"By  Jupiter !"  cried  the  fat  little  man,  "that  would 
be  as  fine  a  Christmas  box  as  ever  we  gave  mortal 
since  we  set  up  housekeeping,  eh?" 

"Indeed  it  would,  dear  Gregory,"  said  the  tall, 
stately  old  lady  in  her  soft  cooing  voice. 

"The  girl's  a  good  girl.  As  good  a  girl,  Jane,  as 
ever  Providence  pitchforked  into  the  world  to  shift 
for  herself.  Look  at  her  now  with  her  hand  on 
Jack's  shoulder  and  t'other  arm  through  our  Nelly's. 
What  a  fine  figure  of  a  girl  it  is !" 

"She  has  a  beautiful  saint-like  face,"  replied  Mrs. 
Brough.  "She  has  been  a  very  good  governess  to 
our  girls  and  a  great  comfort  to  me.  I  am  dis- 
tressed to  think  she  is  leaving." 

They  had  reached  the  little  iron  gate  that  sep- 
arated the  garden  of  the  hall  from  the  fields  of  the 
park.  There  was  a  rush  on  the  part  of  the  family 
towards  the  house. 

"Now  then!"  roared  old  Gregory;  "you  must 
leave  that  letter  bag  alone  till  I  come  in!"  The 
governess  turned  and  smiled  sweetly. 

"We're  going  for  the  parcels,"  shouted  back  a 
pudding-faced  boy  over  his  shoulder ;  and  then  the 
youngsters  disappeared  with  boisterous  merriment, 
tumbling  over  each  other  through  the  doorway  of 
the  manor  house. 

The  governess  waited  at  the  door  for  the  old 
couple  to  arrive. 

Hannah  Mersey  was  a  tall,  slight  girl,  with  little 


THE  LETTER   BAG  II 

grace  or  distinction  in  figure,  but  possessing  one  of 
those  rare  faces  which  deeply  interest  and  perplex 
the  student  of  physiognomy,  while  they  attract  at- 
tention even  from  the  most  casual  of  passers-by.  It 
was  a  beautiful  saint-like  face  in  repose,  as  Mrs. 
Brough  had  said ;  but  the  sweet  gravity  of  the  saint 
was  swept  away  when  emotion,  however  trivial, 
surged  through  her  veins.  At  such  moments  the 
face  became  charged  with  life;  it  lit  up  suddenly 
with  a  rare  radiance;  laughter  danced  in  the  eyes, 
the  lips  parted  in  smiles ;  or,  if  sadness  was  the 
cause,  the  eyes  overflowed  with  the  most  tender 
sympathy  and  the  voice  trembled  with  the  faint 
pathos  of  deeply  felt  grief.  But  no  one  had  seen 
Hannah  shed  tears,  and  no  one  had  ever  heard  her 
laugh. 

Hannah  was  a  brunette;  her  complexion  was 
dark,  but  of  that  warm,  soft  darkness  which  appeals 
to  the  eye  with  greater  attraction  than  does  the  more 
delicate  skin  of  the  light-haired  Saxon.  Her  fea- 
tures were  not  regular;  her  lips  were  broad  and 
firm,  the  chin  square  and  determined,  the  nose  far  too 
strong  for  feminine  face.  But  her  eyes,  of  a  deeper 
hue  than  her  rich  hair,  atoned  for  any  lack  of  re- 
finement in  her  features.  They  were  large  eyes, 
looking  calmly  and  resolutely  out  upon  the  world 
from  beneath  broad,  well-shaped  brows.  Deep, 
mysterious  eyes ;  at  one  moment  sad  and  reflective, 
at  the  next  expressing  all  the  innocent  vivacity  and 
reckless  merriment  of  a  light-hearted  girl.  They 
were  eyes  that  some  people  could  not  bear  to  look 


12  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

upon,  thinking  that  they  pierced  with  unnatural 
sharpness  through  the  flesh  and  read  the  mind's 
unuttered  thoughts.  At  the  present  moment,  as  little 
Squire  Brough  and  his  tall  wife  crossed  the  drive, 
the  girl's  large  dark  eyes  expressed  tender  regret 
and  a  sweet  resignation  of  soul. 

"She  does  not  like  leaving  us,"  whispered  old 
Gregory.  "Now,  I  pray  Heaven  that  letter  has 
arrived !" 

"The  last  Christmas  in  Poyntz,"  said  Hannah,  in 
the  low  musical  voice  that  was  habitual  to  her  even 
in  moments  of  excitement. 

"Dear  Hannah,  I  hope  not!"  exclaimed  the 
squire's  wife,  placing  her  hand  on  the  girl's  arm. 

"Last  Christmas  be  hanged  for  a  tale !"  cried  old 
Gregory,  pushing  them  both  through  the  doorway. 
"You'll  come  to  us  next  Christmas,  and  eat  as  fat  a 
turkey  as  ever  gulped  barley-meal  and  picked  grass 
off  the  park  meadow.  And  you'll  come  the  Christ- 
mas after  that,  and  the  one  after  that,  if  Master 
Dick  hasn't  blown  the  roof  off  Poyntz  Hall  with 
his  confounded  chemicals,  you'll " 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  children  rushing  to- 
wards him  with  the  letter  bag.  "Open  it,  open  it !" 
they  shouted  in  chorus. 

"There's  beastly  few  parcels !"  growled  the  pud- 
ding-faced boy. 

"P'raps  there's  a  lot  of  postal  orders  in  the  letter 
bag,"  said  another. 

The  squire  drew  a  bunch  of  keys  from  his  pocket, 
laid  the  bag  solemnly  on  the  hall  chest  that  stood 


THE  LETTER  BAG  13 

near  the  blazing  log  fire,  and  then  commanded  the 
children  to  stand  back.  As  he  turned  the  key  he 
stopped  and  looked  towards  the  staircase. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Hannah  ?"  he  shouted. 

"There'll  be  no  letters  for  me,"  the  governess 
announced,  smiling  very  sweetly  from  the  stairs. 

The  squire's  eldest  son,  a  slim  youth  of  two-and- 
twenty,  with  the  scholar's  concentration  in  his  spec- 
tacled eyes,  came  into  the  hall  at  this  moment,  and 
heard  Hannah's  pathetic  remark.  He  looked  up  at 
her,  and  their  eyes  met. 

"No  letters  for  you,  girl!  How  do  you  know 
what  letters  are  in  my  bag?"  bawled  the  squire, 
affecting  the  greatest  indignation.  "How  do  you 
know  the  curate  hasn't  sent  you  a  worsted  book- 
marker, or  that  old  Watson" — a  notorious  bachelor 
— "hasn't  sent  you  a  card  with  a  significant  bit  of 
old  Tupper  on  the  back?  I  command  you  to  stay." 

By  this  time  he  had  emptied  the  bag  of  its  con- 
tents and  was  arranging  the  letters  on  the  oak 
chest,  while  his  good  wife  restrained  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  children. 

The  bright,  crackling  fire  threw  red  flames  on  the 
oak  walls,  and  gave  a  further  touch  of  warmth  and 
color  to  the  animated  scene.  The  boys  laughed,  and 
clattered  with  their  stout  boots  on  the  stone  floor; 
the  girls  stood  whispering  on  tiptoe,  craning  their 
long  necks  to  catch  sight  of  the  envelopes  which  the 
old  squire,  his  jolly  red  face  bent  over  the  pile,  was 
arranging  in  little  heaps  with  a  methodical  steadi- 
ness that  kept  the  whole  group  on  the  most  painful 


14  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

of  tenterhooks.  At  the  outskirts  of  the  group  the 
heir,  Richard  Brough,  gazing  with  open  admiration 
at  the  girl  who  rested  her  arms  on  the  baluster  and 
looked  sadly  on  the  merry  scene. 

Of  a  sudden  the  squire  gave  a  shout  of  joy.  "It's 
come !  it's  come !"  he  cried,  waving  an  envelope  over 
his  white  head. 

"What  is  it?"  yelled  the  boys. 

"Oh,  father,  is  it  for  me  ?"  cried  each  young  lady. 

"I  had  a  feeling  it  would  come  to-day,"  shouted 
the  squire.  "God  bless  my  soul !  I  knew  it  would 
come  to-day!" 

"Dear  Gregory,"  whispered  his  wife,  "it  may  be 
a  refusal.  Pray  do  not  say  a  word  till  we  have 
opened  the  letter." 

"A  refusal !"  cried  the  gallant  old  fellow.  "Devil 
a  bit!  Open  it,  Jane!  open  it,  and  read  it  aloud. 
Silence  for  your  mother,  children!  Order  in  the 
pigsty !  The  first  little  squeaker  who  opens  mouth 
will  go  without  plum-pudding.  Not  a  word,  now, 
not  a  word !" 

A  silence  fell  on  the  group.  The  old  lady  with 
quiet  precision  opened  the  envelope,  put  back  her 
veil,  and  glanced  over  the  letter.  Then  she  smiled. 

With  a  glad  cry  the  fat  little  squire  flung  his 
short  arms  round  the  old  lady's  slim  body.  "What 
did  I  say?"  he  cried  triumphantly.  "It's  the  best 
Christmas  present  ever  came  into  Poyntz  Hall !" 

"Father  must  go  without  his  plum-pudding!" 
shouted  one  of  the  boys  triumphantly.  "You've  in- 
terrupted mother." 


THE  LETTER   BAG  15 

"Silence,  you  young  dog!"  shouted  the  jubilant 
old  fellow,  prodding  the  youngster  in  the  ribs, 
whilst  the  hubbub  arose  anew. 

"Is  the  letter  a  present,  father?"  piped  the  girls. 

"Silence,  silence !"  the  squire  bawled,  banging  his 
hand  on  the  stout  chest  for  order. 

"When  every  one  is  quiet,  Gregory,  dear,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Brough  in  her  soft  voice,  "I  will  read 
the  letter  aloud." 

A  stillness  fell  on  the  group,  and  Mrs.  Brough, 
turning  round  to  face  the  now  breathless  family, 
held  her  eyeglasses  on  the  bridge  of  her  nose,  and 
began  to  read  the  mysterious  letter :  "The  Countess 
of  Mane  presents  her  compliments  to  Mrs. 
Brough " 

"Deucedly  complaisant  of  her  ladyship!"  cried 
the  delighted  old  Gregory. 

" presents  her  compliments  to  Mrs.  Brough," 

repeated  the  squire's  wife,  "and  begs  to  say  that 
having  heard  from  the  Dean  of  Barkleton  that  Mrs. 
Brough's  governess  is  seeking  a  fresh  engagement, 
she  will  be  very  glad,  on  the  recommendation  of  the 
dean,  to  give  Miss  Mersey  a  trial  as  companion  to 
her  little  son,  Lord  Kyn.  The  rest  of  the  letter," 
said  Mrs.  Brough,  "is  private." 

"Hip!  hip!  hip!"  cried  the  squire,  waving  his 
hand  above  his  head. 

"Hurrah!"  yelled  the  whole  family,  hardly  real- 
izing the  cause  of  this  exultation. 

The  squire  repeated  the  "Hip!  hip!  hip!"  and 
again  the  family  roared  the  triumpant  "Hurrah!" 


16  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

Hannah  came  down  the  stairs,  her  large  eyes  shining 
with  a  great  radiance,  and  went  towards  Mrs. 
Brough  with  outstretched  hands. 

"How  good,  how  sweet,  how  generous  you  are !" 
she  said. 

Mrs.  Brough  kissed  the  girl's  brow.  "I  told  the 
'dear  dean  how  pleased  we  should  be,  my  dear,  if 
the  countess  would  decide  in  time  to  let  us  know  on 
Christmas  Day.  Mr.  Brough  thought  it  would  be 
such  a  nice  Christmas  surprise,  dear.  I  am  so 
glad,  so  very  glad  you  are  pleased." 

The  family  returned  to  the  chest.  "Where  are 
the  letters,  father?"  they  asked.  "Aren't  there  any 
presents?"  "What  about  postal  orders?"  "Hasn't 
Uncle  Lionel  sent  up  anything?"  and  so  on,  in  a 
shrill  chorus. 

Released  from  Mrs.  Brough's  embrace,  and  with 
three  letters  in  her  hand,  Hannah  retired  quietly 
from  the  noisy  group  and  climbed  the  broad  oak 
stairs  to  her  bedroom.  Her  eyes  were  shining 
brightly,  her  lips  were  parted  in  a  glad  smile,  and 
her  heart  beat  with  unaccustomed  triumph  in  her 
breast.  She  took  off  her  hat,  loosened  her  jacket, 
and  sat  down  in  a  low  arm-chair  by  the  dressing- 
table. 

She  looked  at  the  letters  in  her  lap  with  lax 
interest.  "From  my  very  dear  mother,"  she  said, 
in  her  soft,  subdued  voice,  flinging  one  of  the  en- 
velopes to  the  dressing-table.  "I  am  in  no  mood  for 
another  sermon  to-day.  And  this — now,  whose  writ- 
ing is  that?"  She  opened  the  envelope  and  slowly, 


THE  LETTER   BAG  17 

drew  out  a  letter.  "Oh,  my  dear  lover  Richard!" 
she  exclaimed ;  "and  he  took  the  trouble  to  disguise 
his  dear  handwriting  on  the  envelope.  How  ro- 
mantic !  and  such  a  short  note.  What  a  kind  heart 
he  has !  'Dearest,' "  she  read,  "  'my  wishes  for 
Christmas  are  the  same  as  yours.  I  wish  that  Fate 
may  soon  relieve  us  from  the  secrecy  of  our  engage- 
ment ;  that  we  may  soon  be  married ;  that  our  happi- 
ness may  be  as  unclouded  as  our  love.  Come  to 
the  laboratory  at  three  in  the  afternoon.  I  must 
fold  you  in  my  arms  on  Christmas  Day,  and  tell 
you  something  of  great  importance,  something  I 
am  keeping  as  a  great  secret.  Ever  your  most  de- 
voted.' "  She  kissed  the  letter  and  laughed  to  her- 
self a  little  contemptuously.  Then  she  opened  the 
third  letter.  It  was  from  the  squire,  enclosing  a 
check  with  "the  best  wishes  and  heartfelt  gratitude 
for  your  devotion,  from  Gregory  Brough,  and  Jane 
his  faithful  wife."  Hannah  kissed  the  check,  this 
time  with  sincerity. 

Dinner  at  one  o'clock  that  day  was  a  festival  of 
joy.  Presents  had  not  been  so  numerous  as  last 
year,  but  old  Gregory  had  atoned  for  that  by  dis- 
tributing bright  crown  pieces  to  his  children,  and 
exhorting  them  to  laugh  their  loudest  or  they  would 
have  no  appetite  for  the  good  things  that  were 
a-cooking  in  the  kitchen.  The  wood  fire  roared 
royally  in  the  grate,  the  holly  berries  amid  rich  green 
leaves  on  the  walls  and  mantel-piece,  the  red  faces  of 
the  children  round  the  board — loaded  with  golden 
apples,  red-yellow  oranges,  a  towering  white  cake, 


18  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

piles  of  gaudy  crackers,  and  dishes  of  white  almonds 
and  bluish  raisins — were  aglow  with  life  and  mer- 
riment; while  the  white-haired  squire  at  one  end, 
and  his  stately,  demure,  old  wife  at  the  other,  com- 
pleted the  picture  of  a  happy  English  family  keeping 
one  of  the  best  festivals  in  the  almanac  in  a  jolly, 
old-fashioned  British  way. 

"Heir  Richard !"  cried  the  father,  pouring  out  a 
glass  of  port,  "unless  you  blow  us  all  up  with  your 
unsavory  chemicals,  may  we  be  here  next  year  drink- 
ing to  the  family  in  general,  and  to  the  future  Mrs. 
Richard  in  particular."  Richard  started;  Hannah 
quite  calmly  turned  her  attention  to  replenishing 
with  almonds  and  raisins  the  plate  of  the  pudding- 
faced  boy.  "I  don't  care  who  she  is,  my  boy,  so 
long  as  she's  a  lady  and  carries  a  guinea  or  two  in 
her  purse.  The  day  is  gone  when  the  sons  of  this 
house  could  go  a- wooing  fancy  free.  Land  is  not  what 
it  was,  and  you're  not  likely  to  turn  out  such  a  good 
farmer  as  your  old  father.  So,  son  Richard,  choose 
you  a  wife  who'll  help  to  keep  the  family  in  port  and 
the  horses  in  corn.  And — I  don't  want  to  damp 
your  feelings — but  wherever  you  go,  and  whomever 
you  woo,  know  this,  that  you'll  never  bring  into 
Poyntz  Hall  a  better,  a  more  beautiful,  a  more  ex- 
quisite creature  than  its  present  mistress — God  bless 
her!  My  dear!"  he  continued,  peeping  mischiev- 
ously through  the  dishes  to  the  other  end  of  the 
table,  "I  raise  my  glass  to  you.  You  grow  younger 
and  more  beautiful  every  day  of  your  life." 

"And  you,  Gregory  dear,"  returned  the  lady,  rais- 


THE  LETTER  BAG  19 

ing  her  glass,  "grow  ever  more  generous  and  chiv- 
alrous as  the  years  go  round.  Dear  Gregory,  I 
drink  to  you.  God  bless  you,  my  dear  husband." 

Hannah  looked  first  at  one  and  then  at  the  other, 
smiling  in  silent  admiration.  "How  sweet  you  are !" 
she  exclaimed  softly. 

"And  we  must  drink  a  bumper  to  Hannah !"  cried 
old  Gregory.  "Hannah's  going  to  live  with  a  belted 
earl,  she's  going  to  breathe  the  same  perfumed  air 
as  a  countess;  but  she  won't  forget  Poyntz  Hall, 
she  won't  forget  our  peeling  paint  and  tarnished 
wall-papers.  And  she'll  come  back  next  year,  when 
the  boys  are  home  from  Winchester,  when  the  girls 
are  back  from  Germany,  and  when  Heir  Dick  is 
sitting  at  the  table  with  Miss  Millionaire  at  his  side 
munching  Ribston  Pippins  out  of  her  father-in- 
law's  orchards!" 

So  the  dinner  came  to  an  end.  Everybody  was 
happy.  The  boys  had  eaten  more  than  they  could 
comfortably  hold,  the  girls  had  treasured  up  any 
number  of  cracker  mottoes  in  their  bosoms,  the 
squire  had  lighted  his  black  briar  pipe  and  dragged 
an  armchair  to  the  fire,  Dick  had  retired  to  his 
laboratory  in  the  basement  cellars,  and  Mrs. 
Brough,  according  to  her  custom,  had  gone  upstairs 
to  lie  down  for  the  afternoon. 

Hannah  in  her  own  room  was  reading  her 
mother's  Christmas  homily  with  a  smile  of  indiffer- 
ence, while  her  thoughts  were  with  the  Counte&s 
of  Mane. 


II 


THE  CHRISTMAS  FROLIC 

,  you  may  kiss  me!" 
Richard  Brough  hurried  from  a  table 
Uttered  with  test-tubes  and  evil-looking  bottles,  and 
took  Hannah  in  his  arms.  "Have  you  come  for 
my  great  secret  ?"  he  asked,  kissing  her  quickly  and 
none  too  enthusiastically. 

"I'm  dying  to  know  it,"  she  answered,  remem- 
bering suddenly  that  the  serious-looking  boy  had  a 
secret  to  tell  and  wishing  that  chemicals  did  not 
smell  so  abominably. 

Richard  Brough  perched  himself  on  a  table  in  the 
lamp-lighted  laboratory.  Hannah  stood  before  him, 
her  hands  clasped  behind  her. 

"The  governor  thinks  I  am  going  to  rehabilitate 
the  house  by  marrying  the  daughter  of  some  purse- 
proud  vulgarian,"  he  said,  speaking  quickly,  his 
brows  knitted,  his  eyes  gleaming  sharply  behind 
their  spectacles.  "But  I'm  going  to  restore  our 
fallen  fortunes  in  another  way.  I'm  on  the  verge 
of  a  discovery  that  will  revolutionize  science." 

"How  splendid !"  Hannah  said  in  her  low  voice. 

"To  know  that  you  believe  in  me  is  my  great 
encouragement,"  Dick  said  eagerly.    "It  spurs  me 
on  when  things  go  wrong,  or  when  theories  don't 
20 


THE    CHRISTMAS    FROLIC  21 

work  out  in  practice.  But  now  I'm  on  the  right 
path.  It's  no  use  explaining  to  you  the  details " 

"Yes,  yes ;  I  want  to  know.  I  want  to  learn  from 
you,"  she  said  quietly,  praying  fervently  that  he 
would  not  be  very  long  or  dull. 

Then  Dick  explained,  and  Hannah  listened  with 
intelligence  in  her  eyes,  every  now  and  then  mur- 
muring a  soft  "Splendid !"  or,  "How  clever  you 
are !"  as  the  young  chemist  unfolded  the  mysteries 
of  his  great  discovery. 

"And  when  will  you  know  for  certain  if  it  is  a 
success?"  she  asked. 

"In  six  months." 

"And,  Dick,  will  it  make  us  very  rich?" 

"Tremendously  rich." 

"How  much  a  year  do  you  think?" 

"Not  less  than  ten  thousand,"  said  Dick  modestly. 

"How  splendid !"  she  sighed,  looking  all  admira- 
tion and  humility. 

"You've  no  idea  how  grand  it  is,  the  feeling  that 
one  is  making  a  vast  discovery,"  he  said.  His  thin, 
pinched  face  lighted  up  for  a  moment  with  the 
glow  of  conscious  success. 

"I  can  imagine  it!"  sighed  Hannah,  thinking  of 
Kyn  Castle,  and  the  possibilities  that  were  opening 
before  her. 

There  was  a  silence  for  a  moment,  and  Hannah's 
long  brown  fingers  wandered  over  the  bottles, 
touching  them  carelessly,  as  she  dreamed  of  the  new 
life  waiting  for  her  in  Kyn  Castle. 

"Be  careful,"  said  Dick;  "some  of  those  bottles 


22  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

are  dangerous.  That  one  there,"  he  continued, 
"contains  the  most  powerful  and  wonderful  of 
poisons.  Ten  drops,  dear  Hannah,  and  you  would 
go  to  sleep  for  a  couple  of  days ;  twenty  drops,  and 
you  would  go  to  sleep  for  ever  and  ever." 

"How  dreadful !"  said  Hannah,  stifling  a  yawn. 

"Doesn't  it  make  you  realize,"  he  said  eagerly, 
and  with  so  much  enthusiasm  in  his  voice  that  the 
girl's  attention  was  attracted,  "doesn't  it  make  you 
realize  how  sublime  a  science  is  chemistry?  Think 
of  the  power  it  places  in  man's  hands !  With  this 
little  bottle  of  innocent  white  liquid  I  could  send  this 
whole  house  to  that  sleep  from  which  there  is  no 
waking !  Drop  by  drop,  day  after  day,  and  soon  the 
body  would  yield  up  the  battle,  and  die  of  exhaus- 
tion that  none  would  suspect  to  be  unnatural.  Think 
of  it!  Think  of  the  power  of  chemistry,  the  tre- 
mendous forces  in  the  hands  of  the  chemist !" 

"What  a  good  thing  you  are  not  a  villain !"  said 
Hannah,  smiling. 

She  was  older  than  the  slight  youth  at  her  side, 
and  even  when  she  had  most  looked  forward  to 
marriage  with  him  as  a  release  from  the  drudgery 
of  teaching  children,  she  had  felt  a  very  keen  sense 
of  superiority  in  all  her  intercourse  with  him.  She 
was  a  woman;  Richard  Brough  a  boy.  And  now 
the  wicked  little  spirit  of  Ambition,  which  had  been 
slumbering  and  fitfully  dreaming  in  her  bosom  all 
through  the  long  days  of  an  unhappy  childhood,  was 
beginning  to  yawn  and  stretch  its  limbs,  to  the  great 
discomfort  of  other  and  more  peaceful  spirits  that 


THE    CHRISTMAS    FROLIC  23 

had  lived  there  happily  enough  till  the  present  hour. 
Among  these  other  spirits  was  the  spirit  of  Love, 
and  the  vigorous  young  Ambition,  gaping  and  kick- 
ing as  it  came  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  moment  of 
awakening,  was  causing  Love  in  particular  exceed- 
ing unhappiness. 

Her  father,  a  clergyman,  had  died  of  a  broken 
heart  toiling  in  the  noisome  alleys  of  Plaistow,  and 
the  memory  of  the  childhood  spent  in  that  somber 
quarter  of  the  town  was  alive  and  vivid.  She  had 
found  Dick's  love-making  a  pleasant  interlude  in 
the  midst  of  her  days;  it  had  served  to  brighten 
the  hours  and  hold  a  taper  to  the  dreary  blackness 
of  her  future.  But  the  letter  bag  had  changed  all 
that.  She  no  longer  felt  that  to  marry  him  would 
be  a  great  social  step,  or  a  relief  from  the  toil  of  her 
daily  work.  She  was  beginning  to  realize  that 
Poyntz  Hall,  with  its  impoverished  fortunes,  its 
shabby  grandeur,  was  but  a  small  speck  in  the  uni- 
verse, and  that  even  she,  poor  and  without  powerful 
relations  as  she  was,  might  enter  and  play  a  part  in 
the  larger  affairs  of  a  greater  world.  She  did  not 
dream  of  marrying  a  duke  and  setting  up  a  salon  in 
London;  she  only  felt,  dimly  and  chaotically,  that 
she  would  soon  be  looking  upon  a  nobler  scene  than 
any  she  had  yet  witnessed,  and  that  the  great  Stage 
Manager  of  this  world's  concerns,  having  called  her 
into  this  fair  scene,  might  possibly  give  her  a  part 
to  play  of  greater  distinction  than  any  she  had  yet 
dreamed  of.  With  these  thoughts  in  her  mind,  then, 
Hannah  found  Dick's  love-making  a  little  tedious, 


24  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

and  we  regret  to  say  that  she  rejoiced  when  the 
tea  bell  rang  with  a  whole-heartedness  that,  had  he 
known  it,  might  almost  have  sent  Master  Dick  to  the 
bottle  of  poison. 

But  Hannah  had  long  learned  to  hide  her  feel- 
ings. She  could  dissemble  so  deftly  and  success- 
fully that  she  made  people  mistake  her  very  dissim- 
ulation for  candor.  And  so  Dick  joined  the  tea- 
party  with  happiness  in  his  heart,  and  Hannah  ap- 
peared there  as  the  incarnation  of  all  that  is  ingenu- 
ous and  frank. 

After  tea  came  rollicking  games.  The  hall  rang 
with  laughter  and  the  clatter  of  many  feet.  The 
squire  himself  joined  in  hide-and-seek,  and  Mrs. 
Brough,  tall  and  demure,  was  among  the  noisy  troop 
who  peeped  behind  curtains  and  opened  the  lids  of 
oak  chests  searching  for  the  jolly  old  gentleman.  It 
was  Hannah  who  rejoiced  the  whole  party  by  dis- 
covering the  pudding-faced  boy,  who,  when  it  came 
to  his  turn  to  hide,  selected  with  considerable  wis- 
dom the  larder  for  his  fastness.  It  was  Hannah 
who  played  the  piano  when  dear  old  Gregory  and 
his  wife  led  off  in  "Sir  Roger  de  Coverley."  It  was 
Hannah  who  sang  the  "Mistletoe  Bough,"  and 
caused  everybody  to  realize  the  witchery  of  Christ- 
mas. It  was  Hannah  who  made  the  entire  family 
feel  how  sweetly,  and  with  what  sublime  repression 
of  herself,  she  made  the  frolic  a  success.  Such  a 
success!  Dick  lost  something  of  his  self-concen- 
tration: the  pudding-faced  boy  (but  we  know  not 
what  provisions  he  had  laid  in  during  his  tenure  of 


THE    CHRISTMAS    FROLIC  25 

the  larder)  appeared  to  find  complete  joy  in  things 
other  than  eating :  the  young  ladies  were  girls  again, 
and  forgot  all  about  Martin  Tupper  as  they  romped 
with  flying  hair  and  rosy  faces:  the  old  squire,  of 
course,  was  radiant  and  triumphant — his  laugh 
echoed  above  the  shrillest  note  that  came  from 
juvenile  throat,  his  voice  rose  above  everybody's, 
his  enthusiasm  kept  them  all  going  when  the  stout- 
est youngster  panted  that  he  could  go  on  no  longer, 
and  his  jokes  and  pranks  sent  them  all  into  fits  of 
laughter  even  when  ribs  ached  and  lips  were  stiff. 

So  the  games  went  on  till  eight  o'clock,  when  the 
family  sat  down  to  a  cold  supper,  waiting  upon 
themselves,  while  sounds  of  revelry  rose  in  the  serv- 
ants' hall.  Then  after  supper  there  followed  stories 
— stories  of  ghosts,  stories  of  the  family,  stories  of 
Christmas Dayslongsince  lostin  the  mistsof  years; 
and  then  at  last  came  good-night.  Each  child  went 
to  the  old  man  in  his  deep  chair  before  the  roaring 
wood  fire,  and  he,  laying  his  hand  on  the  head  of 
each  of  his  children,  called  down  God's  blessing  on 
him,  and  then  with  a  loud  kiss  pushed  him  off  to 
bed.  When  Hannah  approached  with  outstretched 
hand  and  sad  smiling  face,  old  Gregory  jumped  out 
of  his  chair,  caught  her  in  his  arms,  gave  her  a 
jolly  kiss,  and  then  laying  his  hand  on  her  beautiful 
dark  hair,  he  said  with  a  sudden  and  very  genuine 
fervor,  "And  God  bless  you,  my  lass !" 

When  Hannah  reached  her  room  she  did  not  im- 
mediately undress.  She  drew  back  the  curtains 
from  the  window,  and  pulled  up  the  holland  blind 


26  THE   FALL   OF  THE  CURTAIN 

through  which  a  white  moon  was  shining  with 
singular  brightness.  She  stood  by  the  window,  her 
hands  behind  her,  looking  moodily  on  the  moon- 
blanched  fields  where  the  glittering  snow  lay  hard 
and  smooth.  The  only  sound  that  reached  her  ears 
was  the  muffled  roar  of  the  swollen  stream  as  it 
swept  between  its  banks,  and  the  occasional  thud 
of  snow  slipping  like  a  small  avalanche  from  the 
heavily  freighted  trees  to  the  gleaming  ground. 
She  could  see  the  marks  in  the  snow  where  the 
family  had  walked  on  their  way  from  church,  and 
she  began  to  think  of  Christmas  Day,  and  of  the  old 
English  merry-making  in  which  she  had  just  acted 
so  successful  a  part. 

"It  is  all  acting,"  she  said  to  herself.  "All  my 
life  I  have  been  playing  a  part.  People  like  me  be- 
cause they  think  I  like  them.  Some  people.  Some 
people  hate  me ;  they  seem  to  know  I  am  a  hypocrite. 
But  most  people  like  me.  The  squire  likes  me. 
Dear  old  squire !" 

Then  she  thought  of  the  innocent  joys  of  that 
Christmas  Day,  and  of  old  Gregory  Brough.  How 
sweet,  how  gracious  he  was :  how  considerate :  how 
generous :  how  good !  Good  ?  She  was  good  too,  but 
then  her  goodness  was  acting.  She  did  not  feel 
good.  She  had  never  committed  a  crime,  scarcely  a 
peccadillo.  She  went  to  church  as  regularly  as  the 
squire ;  she  really  worked  hard  to  make  the  children 
love  their  lessons ;  she  paid  visits  to  stuffy  cottages, 
and  carried  comfort  to  many  a  sick  pillow.  Yes,  she 
lived  what  people  called  a  good  life.  But  she  did 


THE    CHRISTMAS    FROLIC  27 

not  feel  good ;  she  knew  she  was  not  good.  Why  ? 
Why  was  it,  she  asked  herself,  that  she  did  not  love 
goodness,  as  the  squire  loved  it,  as  his  wife  loved  it? 
She  looked  with  sad  interest  on  the  beautiful 
white  park,  the  snow-laden  trees,  the  white  stars 
sparkling  in  the  vault  of  heaven.  Then  she  recalled 
some  verses  she  had  once  learned  by  heart — 

"Weary  of  myself,  and  sick  of  asking 
What  I  am,  and  what  I  ought  to  be." 

How  did  they  go  on?  Some  one  had  told  her 
that  the  verses  contained  all  the  philosophy  of 
Spinoza.  What  was  that  philosophy?  Ah!  looking 
up  at  the  stars,  she  remembered  more  of  the  lines — 

"Unaffrighted  by  the  silence  round  them, 

Undistracted  by  the  sights  they  see, 
These  demand  not  that  the  things  without  them 
Yield  them  love,  amusement,  sympathy. 

"And  with  joy  the  stars  perform  their  shining, 

And  the  sea  its  long  moon-silvered  roll; 
For  alone  they  live,  nor  pine  with  noting 
All  the  fever  of  some  differing  soul." 

But  what  was  the  philosophy  ?  Did  it  bring  rest, 
did  it  yield  the  peace  that  passeth  all  understanding? 

With  a  sigh  she  drew  the  curtains  across  the  win- 
dow, and  turned  back  into  the  room.  As  she  un- 
dressed her  thoughts  reverted  to  the  happy  Christ- 
mas Day  she  had  just  spent,  to  the  noisy  laughing 
children,  to  the  gentle  old  lady,  to  the  jolly  old 
squire.  The  innocence  of  it,  the  innocence  of  it ! 

She  took  her  candle  from  the  dressing-table  and 


28  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

walked  toward  the  bed.  She  pulled  back  the  bed- 
clothes and  blew  out  the  candle.  Then  with  her 
hand  on  the  clothes,  one  knee  raised,  she  paused. 
The  next  moment  she  was  on  her  knees,  praying 
with  hard  eyes  and  locked  jaws  for  the  capacity  to 
love  goodness. 

Once  in  bed  the  girl's  thoughts  quickly  reverted 
to  her  future,  and  the  young  Ambition  kicked  and 
gaped  with  an  energy  that  promised  a  speedy  broad 
wakefulness. 

But  Hannah's  prayer  was  to  be  answered  abun- 
dantly. 


Ill 


IT  was  a  raw  and  gusty  morning  in  the  early 
days  of  January  when  Hannah  Mersey,  having 
paid  her  mother  a  farewell  visit,  took  her  seat  in 
the  train  at  Paddington  Station,  and  settled  down 
in  the  corner  to  dream  of  Kyn  Castle.  The  rain 
lashed  the  windows  and  pattered  angrily  on  the 
roof  of  the  carriage  as  the  good  express  rattled 
through  the  misty  country  with  thunderings  worthy 
of  Hannah's  destination.  It  was  impossible  to  see 
out  of  the  streaming  window,  but  she  found  in  the 
gray  glass,  with  the  rushing,  blurred  country  be- 
yond, as  fine  a  background  for  the  gaudy  colors  of 
her  dream  as  is  given  to  the  sleeper  in  the  darkness 
of  night.  So  she  sat  there,  and  piled  her  castle 
high  into  the  air,  till  the  rain  ceased,  the  wind  died 
down,  and  a  watery  sun  cast  thin  shadows  on  the 
sodden  land.  The  day  was  now  wearing  to  after- 
noon, and  some  of  the  people  in  the  carriage  had 
begun  to  eat  hard-boiled  eggs,  biscuits,  and  sand- 
wiches; but  Hannah,  with  sandwiches  in  her  bag 
on  the  rack,  still  sat  looking  out  of  the  rain-spotted 
window,  dreaming  of  the  life  that  waited  for  her 
behind  the  stout  walls  of  Kyn  Castle.  At  last,  long 
after  the  other  passengers  had  ceased  to  munch 
29 


30  THE   FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

their  sandwiches  and  eggs,  her  own  airy  castle  came 
toppling  to  the  ground.  The  train  slowed  down, 
and  presently  pulled  up  at  a  small  station.  Hannah 
was  in  the  midst  of  the  castle-building  when,  as  the 
train  came  with  a  jolt  to  a  standstill,  she  heard  the 
name  of  "Kyn"  lustily  shouted  from  the  platform. 
With  a  start  she  jumped  up,  lowered  the  window 
with  a  bang,  and  then  turned  to  lift  her  packages 
from  the  rack. 

"Allow  me,"  said  a  strong  voice  behind  her,  and  a 
hand  went  up  to  the  rack  and  lifted  down  her  par- 
cel. Hannah  noticed  that  the  hand  was  very  brown 
and  very  well  shaped.  She  looked  around.  It  was 
only  an  instant;  the  next  she  was  standing  on  the 
still  soaking  platform  and  the  stranger  was  striding 
away  from  her. 

But  what  work  can  be  effected  in  a  minute !  For 
one  thing  the  stranger  had  photographed  himself 
upon  Hannah's  mind  so  clearly,  so  distinctly,  that 
had  she  never  seen  him  again  she  could  for  ever 
after  have  drawn  his  face  to  the  very  life.  It  was  a 
type  of  face  to  appeal  irresistibly  to  a  woman  of 
Hannah's  nature.  It  was  a  strong,  iron  strong, 
face;  but  the  strength  was  of  the  noblest  kind. 
There  was  as  much  gentleness  as  firmness  in  the 
mouth;  as  much  sweetness  as  gravity  in  the  large 
eyes  set  wide  apart  in  the  broad  brows;  as 
much  refinement  as  force  in  the  finely  cut  nose. 
Then  the  stranger  was  tall  and  well  knit.  There 
was  distinction  in  every  line  of  his  body.  There 
was  distinction,  too,  in  the  strong,  low  voice 


HER   FIRST    ENTRANCE  31 

that  had  uttered  those  two  words,  "Allow  me,"  as 
the  strong  brown  hand  went  up  to  the  rack.  He 
seemed  to  Hannah  the  very  mirror  of  chivalry,  the 
embodiment  of  masculine  power.  She  wondered 
why  she  had  not  seen  him  in  the  carriage  during 
those  long  hours  of  castle-building.  She  was  angry 
with  herself  for  having  built  so  assiduously  with 
her  face  glued  to  the  dreary  window.  How  much 
better  if  she  had  looked  and  looked  and  looked  on 
that  strong  calm  face,  and  looking  built  an  alto- 
gether fairer  castle  with  Cupid  for  seneschal ! 

She  was  watching  the  stranger  when  a  very  tall, 
burly  man,  who  walked  with  his  knees  forever 
bent  forward,  as  though  anxious  to  minimize  his 
inches,  approached  and  half  touched  his  hat. 

"Are  you  Miss  Mersey  ?"  he  said,  looking  straight 
over  Hannah's  head. 

"Yes,"  said  Hannah. 

"I  thought  you  was,"  he  replied,  laughing  quietly 
to  himself.  "I'm  going  to  drive  you  to  the  castle. 
All  the  carriages  are  out  to-day,  and  as  I  was  com- 
ing in  for  a  box  of  seeds  I  told  the  housekeeper  I 
would  drive  you  out.  Give  me  your  parcels."  He 
spoke  without  ever  looking  at  Hannah,  and  in  a  tone 
that  implied  condescension  and  dignified  amiability. 
He  also  seemed  to  be  chuckling  quietly  to  himself 
the  whole  time  he  was  speaking. 

She  gave  him  her  parcels,  and  walked  beside  him 
up  the  platform.  He  was,  as  we  have  said,  a  very 
big  man ;  his  chest  was  exceedingly  deep,  his  shoul- 
ders wondrously  broad,  and  yet  his  long  legs,  with 


32  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

the  knees  always  bent,  appeared  to  be  mere  sticks, 
if  one  might  judge  from  the  way  his  trousers 
flopped  over  his  boots  as  he  walked.  His  face  was 
broad  and  fat.  He  wore  closely  clipped  black 
whiskers,  which  left  his  button  mouth  free  to  smile 
perpetually  under  a  little  fat  pudgy  nose.  Close  to 
the  nose  were  his  eyes,  small  pig-eyes  of  a  very 
dark  dull  color,  that  stared  dumbly  ahead  under  a 
pair  of  bushy,  unbrushed  eyebrows.  Hannah  won- 
dered who  he  was ;  the  castle-building  had  included 
a  lordly  footman,  with  gleaming  buttons  and  tre- 
mendous cockade. 

"I'm  the  gardener,"  he  said  suddenly.  "My  name 
is  Mr.  Criddle.  Are  you  fond  of  flowers  ?" 

"Very,"  said  Hannah. 

He  chuckled,  well  pleased.  "A  garden's  like  the 
world,"  he  said,  in  his  condescending  voice;  "it 
grows  all  sorts,  and  the  finest  looking  aren't  always 
the  best,  no,  not  by  no  means."  He  sucked  in  his 
laughter.  Hannah  felt  very  much  as  if  she  were  at 
Sunday  School. 

"Your  box  will  go  up  in  the  luggage  cart,"  he 
said,  as  they  approached  the  station's  exit. 

"There's  more  than  one,"  said  Hannah  anxiously. 

Mr.  Criddle  chuckled  softly  again.  "Things  have 
altered  since  I  was  young,"  he  said  in  his  subdued 
voice.  "A  servant  with  more  than  one  box  was  as 
rare  then  as  a  cabbage  with  two  hearts.  But  all 
your  boxes  will  be  taken  up  if  they're  labeled.  Come 
along,  the  pony's  been  waiting  a  long  time." 

But  Hannah  did  not  hear  him.     In  the  station 


HER  FIRST   ENTRANCE  33 

yard  stood  a  tall  dog-cart,  and  her  stranger  was  sit- 
ting in  it  with  the  reins  in  his  hand,  while  a  groom 
was  helping  a  porter  to  pack  some  boxes  in  behind. 
The  stranger,  whose  head  was  bent  round  as  he 
watched  the  groom,  looked  up  and  saw  Hannah. 
Their  eyes  met. 

"Here's  the  pony-cart,"  said  Mr.  Criddle,  ap- 
proaching a  little  fat,  white  animal  in  a  small  two- 
wheeled  cart.  "He's  a  good  pony;  doesn't  want 
any  one  to  hold  his  head  while  I'm  in  anywhere.  A 
pony  that  wants  some  one  to  hold  him,  and  might 
kick  you  to  death  and  a  trap  to  pieces,  would  cost 
more  money !  It's  a  illogical  world,  isn't  it  ?" 

As  they  drove  out  from  the  station,  Mr.  Criddle 
touched  his  hat  to  the  handsome  stranger. 

"That's  Sir  Michael  Dulverton,"  said  the  gar- 
dener, more  condescending  than  ever.  "You've 
heard  of  him,  I  suppose?" 

"No,"  Hannah  answered. 

Mr.  Criddle,  who  was  sitting  bolt  upright  on  the 
very  edge  of  the  seat,  jerked  the  reins  and  chuckled 
in  his  throat.  "Governesses  don't  know  everything, 
then !"  he  murmured.  "It's  like  doctors,  they  can't 
cure  things  you  can't  cure  for  yourself,  and  only  a 
fool  would  expect  it." 

"Who  is  Sir  Michael  Dulverton?"  asked  Han- 
nah. 

"He's  a  man  that  the  papers  say  ought  to  be 
Prime  Minister  of  England,"  Mr.  Criddle  replied, 
laying  his  whip  tenderly  on  the  broad  back  of  the 
white  pony. 


34  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

Hannah's  heart  sank. 

"Is  he  married?"  she  asked. 

Criddle  this  time  chuckled  almost  aloud.  "What's 
politics  got  to  do  with  marriage?"  he  asked  in  a 
gently  expostulating  tone.  "You  ladies  are  all  the 
same.  My  wife  when  she  goes  a  train  journey 
makes  the  time  pass  by  picking  out  the  bachelors 
from  the  married  men.  Weeding,  she  calls  it !" 

His  eyes  were  wrinkled  up  with  laughter,  as  he 
sat  straight  upright,  gazing  intently  between  his 
pony's  ears.  After  a  pause  he  went  on  in  the  same 
very  subdued  voice,  "Sir  Michael's  a  near  neighbor 
of  ours ;  got  a  little  property  beside  of  ours,  but  it's 
nothing  to  speak  of.  He's  poor  as  I  am,  for  he's  got 
position  to  keep  up,  and  I  haven't.  That's  the  com- 
pensating balance.  He's  lazy,  or  he'd  be  the  Prime 
Minister ;  that's  what  the  papers  say.  He's  the  sort 
of  man  that  makes  every  one  say  he  can  do  great 
things,  though  you've  never  seen  him  do  anything 
at  all.  He's  fond  of  her  ladyship,  and  likes  being 
at  the  castle.  He  and  she  are  hand  in  glove,  as  you 
might  say.  And  then,  Sir  Michael's  powerful  fond 
of  our  little  lord,  wonderfully  fond  of  our  little 
lord,  he  is." 

"Has  he  no  children  of  his  own  ?"  asked  Hannah 
innocently. 

Criddle  ducked  his  head  with  silent  laughter. 
"You're  determined  to  know,  you  are,"  he  said  with 
huge  delight.  "No,  Sir  Michael  lives  with  Lady 
Dulverton."  He  paused.  "Lady  Dulverton — his 
mother.  He's  unmarried.  People  say  he  loved  a 


HER   FIRST   ENTRANCE  35 

young  lady,  and  she  died,  and  he  hasn't  got  over  it. 
Funny  kind  of  love  that  is !" 

They  were  now  crawling  slowly  towards  the  few 
cottages  that  lined  the  road  leading  to  the  gates  of 
Kyn  Castle.  On  a  bench  outside  a  little  white- 
washed inn  sat  an  old  red-faced  man  in  shirt  sleeves 
and  carpet  slippers,  sucking  at  a  long  church- 
warden pipe,  and  blinking  at  the  sunlight  on  the 
rain  puddles.  "That's  a  publican  and  sinner,"  said 
Criddle ;  "his  name  is  Timothy  Budge,  but  there's 
little  of  Timothy  about  him,  saving  'the  stomach 
sake;'  his  son  William  is  valet  to  the  earl,  and 
thinks  more  of  fine  clothes  than  the  courts  of  heaven. 
That  inn  is  called  'The  Cripple's  Ease,'  our  earl's 
father  chose  the  title,  but  I  want  it  called  'The  Sin- 
ner's Ease,'  or  The  Half-way  House  to  Hell.'" 
After  a  pause  Mr.  Criddle,  stealing  a  sly  glance  at 
the  little  hamlet,  remarked  that  the  scene  was 
pretty. 

"It's  very  peaceful,"  Hannah  replied. 

"Peaceful !"  chuckled  Criddle,  drawing  in  on  the 
left  as  wheels  approached  from  behind.  "Yes,  it 
looks  peaceful;  it  looks  more  like  a  picture  where 
things  can't  happen  than  a  bit  of  the  real  world 
where  things  do  happen  most  astounding."  He 
paused  as  a  dog-cart  flashed  by,  and  then  went  on, 
while  Hannah  looked  and  looked  after  the  dog- 
cart. "You  wouldn't  think  that  there  was  a  regular 
storm  going  on  here  now,  would  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  Hannah,  still  following  the  dog-cart. 

"You've  made  a  mistake,"  said  Criddle,  with  a 


36  THZ  FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

pitying  laugh.  "You  wouldn't  think  there  was  a 
storm  going  on  here." 

"What  sort  of  storm?"  Hannah  asked  wearily. 

"A  religious  storm;  the  most  dangerous  of  all 
the  storms  there  is.  It's  likely  to  upset  the  whole 
village,  that's  a  fact."  By  the  earnestness  of  his 
voice  Hannah  could  see  that  Criddle  was  on  his 
favorite  ground.  "Our  clergyman,"  he  went  on, 
"recommended  us  last  Sunday  morning  to  pray  for 
the  souls  of  those  we  have  lost !  Actually,  pray  for 
the  souls  of  those  we  have  lost !" 

"And  is  that  wrong?"  asked  Hannah. 

"Wrong!"  exclaimed  Criddle  in  his  quietest 
tones;  "why,  of  course  it's  wrong.  It's  absurd." 

"Is  it?" 

"Of  course  it  is,"  Criddle  made  answer,  smiling 
all  over  his  face.  "  'As  a  tree  falls  so  shall  it  lie.' 
You  can't  alter  that.  If  you're  good  you  go  to 
heaven,  if  you're  wicked  you  go  to  hell.  There's  no 
getting  away  from  that.  And  there's  a  great  gulf 
fixed  between  these  two.  And  even  if  there  wasn't, 
the  people  in  heaven  wouldn't  want  to  go  to  the 
people  in  hell,  and  the  people  in  hell  wouldn't  want 
to  go  to  the  people  in  heaven.  Sheep  and  goats 
don't  mix,  do  they  ?  Now,"  he  added,  lowering  his 
voice  to  a  whisper,  "there's  some  people  up  at  the 
castle  at  this  present  moment  who  wouldn't  be 
happy  if  they  went  to  heaven.  They  couldn't  stand 
the  democratizing  of  it.  They  want  to  lord  it  over 
everybody.  And  they  live  riotous  lives ;  they  gam- 
ble there  till  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  their  talk  at 


HER  FIRST   ENTRANCE  37 

table  is  light  and  silly  and  ungodly.  They  will  die 
and  go  to  hell.  They  can't  alter  it,  and  I  can't  alter 
it.  And  what's  the  use  of  my  praying  for  them 
when  they're  dead?"  He  chuckled  with  delight  at 
the  bare  idea.  "If  I  sow  mignonette  I  don't  expect 
brocoli  to  come  up ;  if  you  eat  more  than  is  good  for 
you,  you  don't  expect  not  to  get  a  pain,  do  you? 
Everything's  by  law.  Life  is " 

He  stopped  suddenly,  and  hastily  touched  his  hat 
to  a  little  untidy  man  who  had  just  come  out  from 
one  of  the  fields  on  the  side  of  the  road.  For  some 
minutes  after  that  salute  he  did  not  speak.  At 
length,  in  a  whisper,  he  said :  "That's  his  lordship." 

"Who?"  cried  Hannah. 

"His  lordship — the  earl."  Then  glancing  swiftly 
and  slyly  over  his  shoulder  to  assure  himself  that 
Lord  Mane  was  not  within  hearing,  he  said :  "He's 
a  odd  little  man  to  look  at ;  more  like  a  farmer,  isn't 
he?  I've  seen  him  drive  his  own  bullocks  to  mar- 
ket. He'll  have  a  high  place  in  the  next  world.  He 
thinks  more  of  farming  than  he  does  of  company. 
He  don't  mix  with  them  up  in  the  castle;  he  eats 
his  dinner  by  himself  in  his  own  room,  lives  here 
all  the  year  round,  and  goes  to  bed  at  a  Christian 
hour." 

They  turned  in  at  the  magnificent  park  gates, 
guarded  by  crouching  lions,  and  traveled  slowly 
under  a  wide  avenue  of  far-spreading  beech,  elm, 
and  chestnut  trees.  And  that  dirty  little  man,  in  his 
rough,  mustard-colored  suit,  his  absurd  little  billy- 
cock hat,  hobnailed  boots,  shabby  brown  leather 


38  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

gaiters,  was  the  lord  of  this  domain !  Hannah  could 
hardly  believe  Mr.  Criddle.  The  glance  she  had 
given  the  little  man  was  of  the  most  cursory  kind, 
but  she  remembered  that  he  had  struck  her  as  look- 
ing very  like  a  fox.  The  long,  sharp  nose,  the  small, 
twinkling  eyes,  the  red  whiskers,  the  narrow  face, 
the  carriage  of  the  head — which  looked  as  if  it  were 
craning  over  its  own  neck — even  though  she  had 
noticed  these  casually  and  without  interest  as  the 
cart  jolted  by,  they  had  momentarily  impressed  her 
as  making  up  between  them  a  face  as  like  a  fox  as 
any  picture  of  Reynard  she  had  ever  seen. 

The  pony  was  moving  faster  now,  and  soon  the 
broad  avenue  opened  out,  disclosing  to  the  delighted 
Hannah  a  glorious  stone  mansion  glittering  with 
innumerable  diamond-pane  windows,  and  lifting  its 
stately  turrets,  from  one  of  which  streamed  the  Red 
Cross  of  St.  George,  high  above  the  trees  surround- 
ing it.  Kyn  Castle  had  been  built,  on  the  site  of  the 
old  moat-guarded  Norman  castle,  by  Gerard  Christ- 
mas, and  in  its  vast  windows,  its  splendid  propor- 
tions, its  glorious  solidity,  it  expressed  as  finely  as 
Hardwick  Hall  the  breadth  and  grandeur  of  the 
sounding  times  of  the  great  Elizabeth.  There  was 
something  so  impressive  in  its  massiveness,  some- 
thing so  joyous  in  its  spacious  bays  with  their  mul- 
lioned  and  transomed  windows,  that  Hannah  would 
scarce  have  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise  if 
the  high  oak  door,  standing  like  a  rigid  sentry  under 
the  stone-wrought  arms,  had  opened  suddenly,  pour- 
ing a  troop  of  richly  dressed  gallants  and  merry 


HER  FIRST   ENTRANCE  39 

damsels  into  the  glorious  sunshine  of  the  spacious 
forecourt.  It  was  all  Elizabethan,  and  the  thought 
that  men  in  tweed  suits  lived  there  seemed  to  be 
something  of  an  anachronism.  Hannah  forgot  to 
think  of  Sir  Michael  Dulverton ;  she  gazed  with 
hungry  eyes  at  the  mansion  growing  vaster  and 
vaster  as  the  little  fat  white  pony  trotted  towards  it, 
and  unconsciously  she  began  her  castle-building 
again.  She  was  to  live  there !  She  was  to  walk  in 
its  corridors,  to  look  out  from  those  splendid  win- 
dows upon  the  beautiful  pleasance  below;  to  eat 
there,  sleep  there,  read  there,  talk  there,  work 
there ! 

"To  the  back  door,  I  suppose?"  said  Criddje,  sit- 
ting more  rigidly  upright  than  ever. 

"Yes — no — I  don't  know,"  Hannah  answered, 
sick  at  heart.  "It  doesn't  matter.  Do  whatever 
is  usual." 

"There's  no  precedent,"  said  Griddle,  chuckling. 
"You're  the  first  governess  we've  engaged.  Serv- 
ants, of  course,  go  to  the  back ;  but  you're  different 
from  that — according  to  modern  ways  of  thinking. 
I  tell  you  what,"  with  much  condescension,  "I'll 
take  you  round  to  the  north  entrance.  This  here  is 
the  west.  The  north  is  neither  front  nor  back,  and 
that  hits  your  case  very  pretty,  doesn't  it?" 

So  Hannah  was  deposited  at  the  door  that  was 
neither  front  nor  back,  though  it  was  a  very  stately 
door,  and  much  finer  than  the  front  door  at  Poyntz 
Hall,  and  was  admitted  into  Kyn  Castle  by  a  maid- 
servant, who  conducted  her  to  the  housekeeper's 


40  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

room  with  scant  courtesy  if  with  no  actual  rude- 
ness. 

Mrs.  Whittle,  a  black-browed,  hatchet-faced 
woman  of  sixty,  received  Hannah  with  freezing 
dignity,  eyed  her  critically,  almost  fiercely,  and  after 
some  trifling  conversation  marched  her  solemnly 
to  the  sitting-room  prepared  for  her  use.  Tea  was 
brought  in,  and  Mrs.  Whittle  retired  with  the  an- 
nouncement that  she  would  return  directly  she  had 
learned  her  ladyship's  pleasure  regarding  Miss 
Mersey's  arrangements. 

Left  alone,  Hannah  clenched  her  teeth  and  her 
long  brown  hands  very  hard,  and  gave  full  rein  to 
the  bitterness  in  her  soul.  She  was  very  unhappy, 
unhappier  than  she  had  ever  been  before.  Life  ap- 
peared intolerable.  Her  dreams  had  been  so  roseate 
the  reality  was  the  grayness  of  death.  She  could 
think  of  nothing  but  some  means  of  avenging  herself 
on  the  gardener,  on  Mrs.  Whittle,  and  the  maid 
who  had  received  her  as  a  cook  might  receive  the 
scullery-maid.  And  straightway  she  began  her 
dreaming  again.  She  would  make  friends  with  the 
countess,  she  would  ingratiate  herself  with  that 
mighty  lady,  she  would  become  her  friend  and 
confidante,  and  then — then  she  would  bundle  Mrs. 
Whittle  out  of  doors,  bully  the  maid-servant  into 
terror,  and  rule  that  narrow-minded  Hebraist  of  a 
gardener  till  his  life  became  a  burden  to  him. 

So  pleased  was  Hannah  with  this  vision  that  she 
rose  from  her  chair  beside  the  fire,  and  went  to  the 
table  for  tea.  In  the  midst  of  her  meal,  and  when 


HER  FIRST   ENTRANCE  4! 

she  was  just  acting  in  her  mind  the  scene  wherein 
Mrs.  Whittle  was  to  cringe  at  her  feet  whining  for 
mercy,  the  door  opened  and  that  worthy  appeared, 
looking,  it  must  be  admitted,  as  little  humbled  as 
any  lord  mayor  sending  a  miserable  sinner  to  the 
healthy  seclusion  of  a  cell. 

"Her  ladyship  has  returned,"  she  said  coldly,  eying 
Hannah  as  a  schoolmaster  eyes  the  wicked  boy  in 
his  form.  "She  will  pass  this  door  on  her  way  to 
her  room,  and  I  will  ask  her  if  she  cares  to  see  you." 

"That  is  very  good  of  you,"  said  Hannah,  smil- 
ing. 

Mrs.  Whittle, — who  was  of  a  middle  height,  wore 
a  mob  cap,  and  looked  as  forbidding  as  a  growling 
mastiff, — made  no  answer,  but  walked  to  the  door, 
held  it  slightly  open,  and  while  she  stood  there 
listening  for  the  countess's  footfall  regarded  Han- 
nah with  critical  severity. 

"You  must  find  your  work  very  difficult  in  so 
large  a  house,"  said  Hannah,  adopting  her  most 
winning  tone,  and  looking  with  great  admiration  at 
the  stern,  unbending  matron  at  the  door. 

"Her  ladyship  is  satisfied  with  the  manner  in 
which  I  perform  my  duties,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Whittle. 

Hannah's  face  betokened  nothing  save  sweetness, 
unless  it  were  her  mind's  full  realization  that  Mrs. 
Whittle  was  conferring  upon  her  a  great  honor  in 
talking  so  freely  about  her  affairs. 

"There  is  nothing  so  nice  as  tea  after  a  long 
journey,"  she  said  presently. 


42  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

"I  never  take  anything  else,"  Mrs.  Whittle  an- 
swered. 

After  that  Hannah  gave  up  all  attempts  to  pro- 
pitiate the  black-browed  woman,  and  with  becoming 
modesty,  being  still  in  the  Presence,  continued  her 
tea. 

In  a  few  minutes  there  was  the  sound  of  laugh- 
ter in  the  corridor,  a  woman's  cold,  emotionless 
laughter.  Then  a  man's  voice,  a  little  loud,  a  little 
coarse;  then  the  woman's  voice,  loud,  high,  emo- 
tionless. More  heartless  laughter,  and  after  that 
the  sound  of  a  woman's  dress  rustling  as  she  walked. 
Mrs.  Whittle  opened  the  door  a  little  wider,  and 
passed  noiselessly  into  the  corridor. 

Hannah,  sitting  opposite  the  door,  pretending  to 
eat  bread  and  butter,  while  her  heart  beat  furiously 
(for  how  much  depended  on  the  countess!), 
strained  her  ears,  but  could  hear  nothing  of  what 
Mrs.  Whittle  said.  The  countess's  answer,  how- 
ever, was  plain  enough.  "Has  she  had  her  tea? 
Well,  then,  I'll  see  her  to-morrow.  I  can't  be 
bothered  now;  I  am  going  to  lie  down  before  din- 
ner." There  was  the  muffled  sound  of  Mrs.  Whittle's 
voice,  and  then  the  countess  spoke  again:  "Of 
course  not.  She  will  see  him  to-morrow."  Then  the 
sound  of  the  dress  rustling  onwards,  and  after  a 
minute's  pause  the  cold,  emotionless  voice  again, 
"Has  Sir  Michael  been  over  this  afternoon  ?"  "No, 
my  lady,"  and  then  the  dress  rustled  on  out  of  hear- 
ing, and  Mrs.  Whittle  returned. 

"Her   ladyship   will   see   you    to-morrow    after 


HER  FIRST   ENTRANCE  43 

breakfast,"  said  the  matron,  colder,  blacker-looking 
than  ever. 

"That  will  be  very  nice,"  said  Hannah.  "And 
Lord  Kyn,  may  I  go  and  make  his  acquaintance?" 

"You  will  see  his  lordship  to-morrow,"  replied 
Mrs.  Whittle.  "You  will  have  your  dinner  served 
at  seven  in  this  room,  and,  if  you  wish,  I  will  now 
show  you  your  bedroom." 

Hannah  expressed  her  gratitude,  and  followed 
Mrs.  Whittle  into  the  corridor.  As  they  walked 
together  a  man  turning  the  corner  from  another 
passage  came  suddenly  upon  them.  Mrs.  Whittle 
drew  aside  to  let  him  pass. 

"Ah,  Mrs.  Whittle!"  he  exclaimed,  screwing  a 
glass  into  his  eye,  "I  was  just  coming  to  beg  a  cup 
of  tea  from  you." 

He  looked  at  Hannah,  and  then  doubtfully  at 
Mrs.  Whittle.  He  was  inclined  to  be  stout,  with  a 
large,  heavy  face,  bold  intelligent  eyes,  and  a  good- 
natured  sensual  mouth ;  a  man  who  looked  as  if  he 
might  have  bid  good-bye  to  the  twenties,  and  was 
perhaps  preparing  for  himself  the  port  of  the 
forties.  He  wore  his  dark  hair  a  trifle  long, 
spoke  in  a  deep,  pompous  voice,  and  continually 
pursed  his  broad  lips. 

Mrs.  Whittle  seemed  for  the  moment  a  little 
startled,  but  she  quickly  recovered,  and  having 
begged  the  gentleman  to  kindly  await  her  presence 
in  the  housekeeper's  room,  continued  her  march  to 
Hannah's  bedroom. 

Just  as  the  housekeeper  was  about  to  withdraw, 


44  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

Hannah,  burning  to  know  something  more  of  the 
family,  asked  if  Mrs.  Whittle  could  let  her  look 
at  a  photograph  of  the  little  Lord  Kyn. 

"His   lordship   has   never  been   photographed," 
replied  Mrs.  Whittle,  and  withdrew. 


IV 


INTRODUCES  THE  READER  AND  MISS  MERSEY  TO  THE 
RIGHT   HONORABLE  THE   COUNTESS  OF    MANE 

HER  ladyship  having  eaten  her  breakfast  in 
her  boudoir,  and  having  glanced  over  her 
letters  at  the  dressing-table,  was  now  preparing  to 
leave  her  room.  She  had  held  cards  in  her  soft 
white  hands  until  nearly  two  in  the  morning,  and 
was  feeling  neither  very  well  nor,  having  lost  con- 
siderably in  the  game,  very  contented.  But  much  of 
her  distress  of  soul  vanished  when,  on  her  way  to 
the  door,  she  paused  for  an  instant  before  her  cheval 
glass.  Happy  the  rosewood  that  framed  so  exqui- 
site a  picture!  The  countess  was  tall,  gracefully 
proportioned,  and  carried  her  small  head  with  the 
regal  dignity  of  a  queen.  Her  complexion,  for 
which  it  must  be  conceded  her  maid  was  more 
responsible  than  her  Maker,  was  of  the  most  fairy- 
like  delicacy ;  the  pearly  whiteness  of  the  skin  rivaled 
the  lily,  and  the  soft  flush  on  the  rounded  cheeks  was 
infinitely  more  warm  and  winsome  than  the  blush 
of  a  spring  rose.  And  then  her  blue  eyes !  Though 
they  lacked  soul  and  all  the  glorious  expression  of 
a  fine  mind,  they  shone  with  so  much  dignity,  so 
much  pride,  that  they  dazzled  and  confounded  the 
impious  critic  who  looked  into  that  queen-like  face 
45 


46  THE    FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

only  to  find  faults.  Beautiful,  proud  blue  eyes; 
light,  innocent  blue  eyes ;  a  blue  that  suggested  in 
the  midst  of  that  pink-white  flesh  thoughts  of  fine 
china — clean  thoughts,  fresh  thoughts,  happy 
thoughts.  And  above  the  white  brow  that  rose  so 
gracefully  from  the  round  blue  eyes  was  piled  our 
queen's  crown — a  crown  of  gleaming  red  gold, 
shimmering  in  God's  sun  with  a  hundred  twinkling 
lights.  The  joyousness  of  that  glorious  hair !  The 
triumph,  the  victory  of  it!  Momus  confronted  by 
such  splendor  had  surely  bowed  his  head  to  the 
earth,  and  held  his  peace. 

The  countess  walked  from  her  room  with  a  cer- 
tain sense  of  happiness.  The  winter  sun  that  poured 
in  through  the  mullioned  windows  had  glinted  on 
her  fine  hair  as  she  paused  for  that  fleeting  instant 
before  the  mirror.  She  became  freshly  conscious  of 
her  beauty;  and  what  is  the  loss  of  a  few  guineas 
and  a  night's  sleep  to  the  compliments  of  a  broad 
mirror  that  cannot  flatter,  cannot  lie?  When  the 
countess  reached  her  morning-room  and  rang  the 
bell  for  Hannah  she  was  in  as  sweet  a  temper  as 
any  fashionable  beauty  ever  enjoyed  at  eleven  of 
the  morning. 

Hannah  was  dumfounded  by  the  beauty  of.  the 
stately  countess  as  soon  as  she  entered  the  room. 
It  was,  perhaps,  well  for  her  that  this  was  the  case, 
for  it  certainly  tended  to  put  Lady  Mane  in  still 
greater  good  humor  with  herself,  and  consequently 
with  all  the  world.  With  a  smile  the  mistress  of 
Kyn  Castle  extended  her  hand  to  the  admiring  gov- 


THE   COUNTESS   OF  MANE  47 

erness,  and  asked  if  she  had  been  quite  comfortably 
provided  for. 

"The  house  is  full  of  guests,"  said  she,  in  her 
calm,  emotionless  voice;  "but  Mrs.  Whittle  is  an 
excellent  woman,  and  I  am  sure  she  did  her  best 
for  you." 

"I  have  been  quite  comfortable,  my  lady,"  said 
Hannah. 

"Do  you  sing?"  asked  the  countess  suddenly. 

"A  little— to  myself." 

"You  have  a  very  musical  voice.  When  the 
castle  is  quieter  you  must  sing  to  me." 

"Your  ladyship  is  very  kind."  Hannah's  heart 
was  beating,  and  her  low  voice  trembled. 

"Your  work  will  not  be  difficult,"  the  countess 
went  on,  looking  with  no  little  interest  at  the  tall, 
slim  brunette  who  stood  so  modestly  before  her. 
"My  son  is  delicate,  and  he  is  only  six  years  old. 
We  do  not  wish  him  to  be  overworked.  In  truth, 
Miss  Mersey,  we  want  you  rather  as  a  companion 
and  playfellow  for  the  little  man.  You  will  play 
with  him  in  the  garden,  and  take  him  with  you  on 
your  wanderings  through  the  park.  And  I  shall  be 
glad  if  you  will  keep  him  as  much  as  possible  from 
the  guests.  I  do  not  care  for  him  to  mix  with  many 
people  at  present.  The  park  and  gardens  are  big, 
though,  and  you  will  have  plenty  of  places  to  amuse 
yourself  in.  I  hope  you  won't  find  it  very  dull." 

"I  shall  like  it,  I  am  sure,"  said  Hannah  grate- 
fully. 

The  countess  paused  as  if  she  wished  Hannah 


48 

would  say  something  more.  "You  really  have  a 
very  beautiful  voice,  Miss  Mersey,"  she  said  at  last ; 
"will  you  be  very  kind,  and  sing  me  a  song? — any- 
thing you  like,  any  little  thing  you  can  remember." 
Hannah  bowed  with  a  grave  smile,  and  went  to 
the  little  rosewood  piano  standing  beside  the  pale 
blue  wall.  In  her  mind  there  was  a  perfect  tempest 
of  anxiety  as  to  the  choice  of  her  song;  she  felt 
that  her  very  fortunes  depended  on  the  choice.  At 
length,  almost  unconsciously,  she  struck  the  notes 
of  a  little  song  composed  many  years  before  by  her 
father,  the  poor  clergyman  at  rest  in  a  London  cem- 
etery : — 

Roses  for  my  lady,  she  is  fair: 
Roses  for  her  bosom,  for  her  hair: 

She  can  never,  never  love  me, 

She  is  ah !  so  high  above  me, 
And  in  silence  I  must  worship,  and  despair. 

Roses  for  my  lady,  she  is  sweet: 
Roses  for  her  head,  and  for  her  feet: 
I  shall  die  while  they  are  blowing, 
I  shall  die  without  her  knowing — 
When  the  sun  is  on  the  river  and  the  wheat. 


When  the  notes  died  away  the  countess  smiled, 
and  Hannah  looking  up  met  her  beautiful  blue  eyes. 
"That  is  a  very  pretty  song,  Miss  Mersey,"  said  the 
countess,  "but  it  is  dreadfully  sad — oh,  dreadfully, 
dreadfully  sad !" 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and,  with  the 
knock,  the  door  opened.  The  pompous  man  with 


THE  COUNTESS   OF  MANE  49 

the  black  hair  and  broad,  sensual  lips,  whom  Han- 
nah had  met  in  the  corridor  on  the  previous  day, 
entered  the  room  with  a  complacent  smile. 

"Music  hath  charms!"  he  said,  in  his  deep,  au- 
thoritative voice.  "Forgive  me,  dear  countess,  but 
I  could  not  resist  the  temptation,  I  really  couldn't. 
I  thought  you  had  broken  through  your  rules  and 
were  singing  here  all  alone  to  the  Sevres  china  and 
the  Chippendale  chairs." 

Lady  Mane  smiled  very  sweetly  and  graciously. 
There  was  a  flush  in  her  cheeks  that  the  maid,  great 
artist  as  she  was,  could  never  woo  into  that  soft 
round  flesh.  "You  thought  I  was  singing  to  empty 
chairs?"  she  laughed. 

"So  many  great  artists  do,"  he  answered,  showing 
his  white  teeth.  "After  all,  between  the  ears  of  the 
Philistines  at  St.  James's  Hall  and  the  well-bred 
legs  of  an  aristocratic  chair,  I  would  choose  the 
legs." 

"And  the  Sevres  china  ?"  laughed  the  countess. 

"At  least  it  is  not  cracked,"  he  replied. 

"But  the  song  you  heard  was  sad,  it  was  a  little 
tragedy  in  two  verses,"  said  the  countess. 

"All  songs  are  tragedies,"  he  answered,  "but 
they  generally  run  to  three  verses,  with  a  waltz 
chorus  to  each  verse.  And  why,  my  dear  countess, 
should  you  not  sing  a  sad  song?  Are  you  never 
tristful?" 

"Not  after  breakfast,"  she  said,  and  introduced 
Mr.  Oliver  Bolt,  "a  poet  of  no  reputation,"  to  Han- 
nah Mersey. 


50  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

Oliver  Bolt  gave  a  little  stately  bow  to  Hannah, 
and  then  turned  instantly  to  Lady  Mane.  "It  is 
after  breakfast  I  am  most  sad,"  he  said;  "at  that 
hour  one  feels  there  is  an  eternity  before  nightfall. 
It  is  a  time  for  reflection.  One  begins  to  think  of 
life;  to  realize  that  for  every  one  of  us  the  future 
holds  only  false  teeth  and  the  gout.  Man's  destiny 
— false  teeth  and  the  gout.  It  is  worse  than  grow- 
ing old  with  Rabbi  Ben  Ezra." 

"You  are  more  depressing  than  Miss  Mersey's 
ballad,"  the  countess  laughed.  "Atone  for  your 
intrusion  on  my  business  hours  by  going  to  the 
piano  and  singing  something  cheerful." 

Mr.  Bolt  dropped  the  glass  from  his  eye.  "Some- 
thing cheerful  at  eleven  of  the  clock !"  he  exclaimed 
in  his  deep,  loud  voice.  "My  dear  countess,  you  are 
too  bad.  Am  I  a  chaffinch  ?  Am  I  anything  so  soul- 
less as  a  chaffinch  ?  Remember  that  all  great  artists 
have  their  moods  and  their  hour.  Don  Quixote  was 
written  in  prison.  Give  me  permission  to  sing 
something  just  a  little  sad,  and  I  will  obey  you — 
as  I  always  obey  you.  But  to  bid  me  be  cheerful ! 
— it  is  like  asking  me  to  read  the  'Death  of  Little 
Nell'  to  a  Sunday  School." 

The  countess  laughed,  and  Hannah  smiled — 
though  she  felt  nothing  but  contempt  and  aversion 
for  this  pompous,  loud-voiced  poseur.  "Sing  any- 
thing," said  the  countess. 

"I  have  just  composed  a  song  on  squaring  the 
circle,"  said  Bolt,  "but  that  is  too  sad.  It  was  in- 
spired by  watching  two  lovers  walking  round  a 


THE   COUNTESS   OF  MANE          «      51 

Square.  It  is  dolefully  sad."  He  walked  in  deep 
meditation  to  the  piano ;  and  as  he  went  the  smiling 
countess  followed  him  with  quick  and  lively  interest 
in  her  blue  eyes. 

"Something  just  a  very  little  sad,"  said  Mr.  Bolt, 
sitting  with  great  care  on  the  music-seat,  and  turn- 
ing his  bold  dark  eyes  towards  the  countess.  "Some- 
thing just  the  least  bit  sad,  and  yet  possessing  the 
gently  persuasive  stimulating  qualities  of  sherry 
and  orange-bitters." 

"To  make  us  hungry  for  more?"  laughed  the 
countess.  "Oh  dear  no!" 

"For  something  more  substantial,"  said  Mr.  Bolt 
quietly,  laying  his  white  hands  on  the  keys.  He 
raised  his  large  head  suddenly  to  gaze  dreamily  at  a 
picture  high  up  on  the  opposite  wall.  "This  song," 
he  said,  "is  called  'Rot' ;  it  is  my  own  composition." 
Then  he  sang,  in  a  rich  baritone,  beautifully  modu- 
lated, to  an  accompaniment  of  sad,  religious 
chords,  the  following  song : — 

On  Piccadilly  a  leaf  was  blown, 

Was  trodden  by  half  a  million  fools; 
In  the  bare  boughs  the  wind  made  moan 

And  the  rain  dripped  mutely  into  the  pools : 
The  rain  dripped  mutely,  dropped  and  dropped, 

The  pale  policeman  he  pottered  by, 
The  'bus  splashed  onwards,  the  cycle  popped, 

And  Tear's  Soap'  flashed  on  the  evening  sky. 

O!  what  became  of  that  dear  brown  leaf, 
When  darkness  closed  on  the  streaming  street — 

Ah !  life  of  man  it  is  brief,  so  brief 
That  a  woman  can  scarcely  make  it  sweet : 


52  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

A  woman  can  hardly  make  it  sweet, 
And  ah!  so  soon  is  a  love  forgot — 

The  leaf  that  lay  on  that  bobby's  beat 
Had  nothing  to  do  but  rot — rot — rot ! 

The  countess  laughed  and  clapped  her  hands 
gaily,  looking  with  no  little  admiration  at  the 
singer,  who  still  sat  on  the  music-seat  with  an 
expression  of  deep  melancholy  on  his  face.  "That  is 
a  song,"  he  said,  "that  Wordsworth  might  have 
written  and  Niebuhr  have  praised.  Don't  you 
think,"  he  added  quietly,  looking  intently  at  the 
countess,  "that  it  possesses,  really  in  an  eminent 
degree,  the  qualities  of  sherry  and  orange-bitters?" 

"I  will  tell  you  at  lunch,"  she  laughed.  "And 
now  the  poet  must  be  banished — you  must  really 
run  away " 

"Run  away!"  Oliver  exclaimed,  lifting  shocked 
hands.  "Goddess  of  the  ambrosial  courts,  I  never 
ran  in  my  life!  The  old  poet  sang:  They  shall 
mount  up  with  wings  like  eagles  (the  first  step)  : 
they  shall  run  and  not  be  weary  (the  second  step)  : 
they  shall  walk  and  not  faint  (the  third  and  highest 
step).  I  have  always  walked ;  I  have  never  fainted." 

He  had  risen  and  moved  towards  the  door.  "I 
feel,"  he  said,  "all  the  poignant  anguish  of  the 
hardened  jail-bird  given  his  liberty.  There  will  be 
for  me  no  sunshine  in  the — in  the  Rose  Walk,"  he 
added,  laying  a  gentle  emphasis  on  the  location. 

Then  he  went  out.  The  countess  had  evidently 
been  much  pleased  by  the  interruption,  and  when 


THE   COUNTESS  OF  MANE  53 

she  asked  Hannah  to  ring  the  bell  it  was  in  a  merry 
voice,  her  pretty  face  radiant  with  amusement. 

"Mr.  Bolt  is  very  witty,"  she  said.  "Did  you 
like  his  song?" 

"It  was  delightfully  funny,"  said  Hannah,  look- 
ing all  admiration,  while  she  knew  only  loathing 
in  her  heart  for  the  man.  "He  seems  to  me  so  droll 
that  he  could  never  be  unhappy." 

The  countess  looked  annoyed.  "One  can  never 
say  that,  even  of  a  buffoon,"  she  said  quietly. 

While  Hannah  was  biting  her  lips  and  reproach- 
ing herself  for  having  done  more  than  answer  the 
question  addressed  to  her  the  door  opened  and  a 
footman  appeared  in  answer  to  the  summons  of  the 
bell.  The  countess  told  him  to  bring  Lord  Kyn  to 
her,  and  then,  rising  from  her  chair,  she  walked  to 
the  window  and  looked  steadily  out  on  the  garden 
till  the  door  opened  and  the  little  heir  made  his 
appearance. 

Hannah  felt  her  blood  grow  cold  as  she  looked 
at  the  boy.  He  was  a  tiny  shriveled  creature,  with 
a  poor  little  pinched  white  face,  and  a  chest  that 
seemed  to  be  only  the  meeting  of  the  shoulders. 
His  eyes  were  large,  and  looked  weirdly  large  in  the 
small  face ;  his  hair  was  a  pale  red,  and  hung  limp 
from  his  head  as  though  weary  of  trying  to  find 
sustenance  in  that  poor  little  human  skull.  His  lips 
were  parted  and  showed  small  pointed  teeth  against 
the  white-pink  gums.  As  he  came  into  the  room 
Hannah  thought  she  had  never  seen  so  pitiable  a 
child  in  her  life. 


54  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

Lady  Mane  turned  from  the  window  and  intro- 
duced the  boy  to  his  governess.  She  spoke  to  him 
in  a  kind  voice,  but  there  was  no  gentleness  in  it,  no 
yearning,  certainly  no  affection.  The  boy,  on  his 
part,  took  little  notice  of  his  beautiful  mother,  but 
studied  Hannah  with  great  interest,  allowing  her  to 
retain  his  hand  in  her  own,  and  betraying  by  little 
childish  signs  that  he  was  inclined  to  trust  her. 

"And  now,"  said  the  countess,  "you  may  take 
Miss  Mersey  and  show  her  the  gardens." 

"Would  you  like,"  asked  the  boy,  in  a  caressing 
voice,  looking  up  at  Hannah  with  a  certain  light  of 
joy  in  his  eyes,  "would  you  like  me  to  take  you  to 
the  Rose  Walk  where  the  fairies  live  ?" 

Before  Hannah  could  answer,  the  countess  inter- 
posed: "You  had  better  take  Miss  Mersey  to  the 
Fish  Ponds,"  she  said.  "You  can  go  into  the  Rose 
Walk  another  day." 

As  Hannah  went  from  the  room  she  found  herself 
wondering  what  manner  of  man  Oliver  Bolt  was 
when  his  pose  was  laid  aside  and  he  showed  his 
other  soul-face  to  the  world. 


IN   QUEST   OF   GOBLINS 

A  LTHOUGH  it  was  the  middle  of  January  the 
,/~\.  sun  shone  bravely  in  the  heavens,  and  a 
grateful  west  wind  floated  gently  over  the  green 
earth.  The  dark,  leafless  trees  and  the  flowerless 
plants  seemed  to  be  looking  at  the  conservatories — 
full  to  the  roof  with  summer  green  and  summer 
blossom,  as  though  conscious  it  was  their  business 
to  fill  the  crowded  scene  with  nodding  flowers  and 
loaded  branches — as  though  ashamed  of  their  tardi- 
ness. The  earth  yielded  its  pleasant  savor  to  the 
throbbing  rays  of  the  sun,  the  birds  sang  in  a  joyous 
chorus,  the  rooks  cawed  with  summer  laziness  in 
the  high  elms,  and  the  many  diamond-paned  win- 
dows of  Kyn  Castle  twinkled  in  the  sun,  for  all  the 
world  as  though  it  were  a  balmy  spring  morning. 
Even  the  sturdy  stone  walls  of  the  castle,  overlook- 
ing the  green  lawns,  seemed  to  lose  the  austerity  of 
their  grayness,  and  to  push  their  lush  green  mosses 
more  and  more  into  prominence,  as  if  to  say,  "Be- 
hold, we  are  merry  too!  The  winter  is  dead;  the 
rheumatics  have  gone  out  of  our  old  bones ;  we  are 
young — young  as  the  spring  itself." 

Hannah  drew  the  fragrance  of  the  morning  to  her 
soul,  and  looked  about  her  with  glad  eyes.  The 
castle  stood  high,  the  gardens  were  in  wide  terraces, 

55 


56  THE  FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

leading  gradually  down  through  pleasance  after 
pleasance,  to  the  brooding  woods,  over  whose  inter- 
netted  tree-tops  the  country  far  beyond  could  be 
seen  stretching  out  in  a  green  stillness  to  the  purple 
mists  of  the  horizon.  Glorious  gardens  they  were, 
with  broad  white  flagged  paths  lying  half  asleep 
in  the  midst  of  their  greenness,  with  thick  hedges 
and  stone  basins  enclosing  them,  and  with  stately; 
stone  stairs  leading  from  one  to  the  other.  Hannah 
looked  at  them,  at  the  few  people  who  walked  lazily 
on  those  sleeping  stone  paths,  and  she  sighed  so 
deeply  that  the  boy  at  her  side  glanced  up  hastily 
and  gently  pressed  her  hand. 

"You  will  like  the  Fish  Ponds,  Miss  Mersey,"  he 
said.  "There  are  not  so  many  fairies  there  as  in  the 
Rose  Walk,  but  oh!  there  are  heaps  and  heaps  of 
funny  little  imps  and  goblins  who  live  in  holes  under 
the  water,  and  dance  on  the  lily  leaves  when  the 
moon's  shining." 

"Who  told  you  about  the  fairies?"  said  Hannah 
gently,  as  they  passed  from  the  garden  into  the 
wide-stretching  park. 

"My  godfather.  He  knows  ever  such  a  lot  about 
them.  He  knows  where  they  live,  what  they  eat, 

what  clothes  they  wear,  what  work  they  do 

Oh,  Miss  Mersey,  there  he  is  1  Look !" 

The  boy  gave  a  cry  of  joy,  and  dragging  his  hand 
away  from  Hannah's,  stumbled  as  fast  as  his  poor 
little  legs  could  carry  him  over  the  rough  grass  to 
the  woods  that  pressed  jealously  against  the  smooth, 
kempt  garden.  Hannah  looked  up,  and  there  she 


IN    QUEST    OF    GOBLINS  57 

beheld,  coming  swiftly  with  strong  strides  out 
through  the  dark  woods  into  the  open  sunshine  of 
the  park,  Sir  Michael  Dulverton.  He  was  waving 
his  stick  in  the  air,  and  smiling  a  welcome  to  little 
Lord  Kyn.  Hannah  watched  him  as  he  bent  for- 
ward, caught  the  boy  in  his  arms,  and  lifted  him 
high  into  the  air.  He  looked  a  very  brave  gentle- 
man. He  looked  happier,  grander,  stronger,  than 
when  she  had  seen  him  at  Kyn  Station.  Her  interest 
of  yesterday  revived  with  new  vigor.  She  went  for- 
ward after  the  boy,  her  heart  beating,  a  glad  smile  in 
her  eyes,  an  expression  there  of  beautiful  devotion 
to  the  child  which  she  fondly  trusted  Sir  Michael 
would  see  and  remember. 

"She  doesn't  know  anything  about  fairies,"  the 
boy  was  gasping,  in  Dulverton's  arms;  "but  she's 
nice,  and  I'm  going  to  tell  her  all  about  them,  just 
as  you  told  me." 

Sir  Michael,  with  some  difficulty,  managed  to  lift 
his  hat.  "I  have  come  to  dispute  your  ownership," 
he  said  in  his  deep  voice.  "Kyn  and  I  are  very  old 
friends,  and  I  have  been  feeling  mortally  jealous 
ever  since  Christmas — ever  since  I  knew  he  was 
going  to  have  a  new  friend." 

"You  are  an  authority  on  fairies !"  said  Hannah  in 
gentle  reproach. 

"And  goblins,  and  dwarfs,  and  brownies!"  cried 
the  boy.  "Oh,  godpapa,  do  tell  Miss  Mersey  about 
the  goblin  who  was  caught  in  a  cage  by  a  giant,  and 
got  out  through  the  bars  by  biting  off  his  own  head. 
Oh,  do  tell  her  that!  She  would  like  that  story, 


58  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

wouldn't  you,  Miss  Mersey?  Sir  Michael  knows 
ever  such  a  lot  of  things  about  fairies ;  but  I'll  tell 
you  all  he's  told  me — every  bit,  really." 

Hannah  looked  up  from  the  pinched  white  face 
of  the  boy  to  find  the  grave  eyes  of  Sir  Michael 
regarding  her  with  apparent  severity.  She  cowered 
a  Httle  under  the  glance,  and  stooped  down  to  fondle 
the  boy  with  pain  in  her  heart.  Had  this  strong, 
good  man  penetrated  her  disguise  already?  Was 
he  one  of  those  people  into  whose  eyes  she  never 
dared  to  look  ?  He ! — the  one  man  in  the  whole  world 
for  whose  regard  she  had  ever  felt  a  keen  and  living 
anxiety. 

"Miss  Mersey  shall  hear  the  story  another  day, 
Kyn,"  said  Sir  Michael  quietly.  His  voice  sounded 
hard  and  cold  to  Hannah.  "We  will  walk  to  the 
Fish  Ponds  and  show  her  the  tiny  caves  where  the 
goblins  live." 

They  walked  on  together,  the  boy  between,  giving 
each  a  hand. 

"Ah,"  thought  Hannah,  in  her  wounded  soul,  "if 
this  frail  life  could  but  join  his  life  with  mine  for 
ever  and  ever!" 

After  a  moment,  Sir  Michael,  who  was  stooping 
to  give  the  tiny  child  his  hand,  looked  at  Hannah 
and  said:  "We  were  fellow-travelers  yesterday,  I 
think." 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  meeting  his  eyes  for  a  mo- 
ment. Then  there  was  a  pause. 

"You  have  not  been  long  enough  at  the  castle  to 
know  all  its  beauties,"  he  said.  "The  place  groans 


IN    QUEST    OF    GOBLINS  59 

under  its  weight  of  interesting  things.  Every  wall 
is  heavy  with  rare  pictures ;  every  cabinet  is  full  of 
historical  treasures.  You  will  spend  many  a  happy 
day  there  with  old  Kyn." 

"I  am  very  happy  at  present,  and  I  think  Kyn 
and  I  are  going  to  be  good  friends,"  Hannah  an- 
swered in  her  low,  soft  voice. 

Sir  Michael  had  now  lifted  the  boy  in  his  arms. 
"You  must  show  Miss  Mersey  all  your  fine  posses- 
sions, Kyn,"  he  said.  "I  want  you  to  like  the  things 
in  the  castle  as  much  as  the  fairies  in  the  Rose  Walk, 
and  the " 

"I  did  so  want  to  show  Miss  Mersey  the  Rose 
Walk,"  Kyn  put  in,  pouting  disconsolately. 

"Then  why  didn't  you,  duffer?"  remarked  Dul- 
verton,  with  a  rallying  smile. 

"Mother  said  I  was  not  to  go  there,"  said  Kyn; 
"and  while  Miss  Mersey  was  putting  on  her  hat  I 
peeped  out,  and  there  was  only  fat  Mr.  Bolt  there, 
doing  nothing  but  walk  up  and  down  humming." 

Hannah  could  not  forbear  to  glance  at  Dulverton. 
His  brows  were  knitted,  his  cheek-bones  stood 
sharply  out  under  his  clouded  eyes,  and  his  jaws 
were  firmly  locked.  Her  heart  ached  again,  and 
this  time  with  a  keener  pain. 

"Another  day  will  do  as  well,"  said  Dulverton, 
in  a  hard  voice.  "Fairies  do  not  run  away,  and  even 
MIT.  Bolt,"  he  laughed  a  little  contemptuously, 
"cannot  frighten  them  from  the  Rose  Walk.  Keep 
a  brave  heart,  Kyn;  and  now  for  our  friends  the 
jolly  little  fat  goblins." 


60  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

At  the  brink  of  the  Fish  Ponds,  that  linked  them- 
selves under  light  bridges  one  to  the  other,  and 
stretched  far  away  across  the  park,  Dulverton  set 
Kyn  upon  his  feet,  and  bent  down  with  him  over  the 
water.  Hannah  stood  behind,  tall  and  straight, 
"like  a  lance  in  rest,"  and  gazed,  with  bitterness  in 
her  soul,  at  the  quiet,  handsome  man  whose  brown 
cheeks  and  brown  mustache  brushed  the  pale  cheek 
of  the  boy  as  the  two  heads  bent  over  the  still  green 
water. 

After  some  minutes  Sir  Michael  bade  the  boy 
steal  by  himself  very  quietly  to  the  nearest  bridge, 
and  see  whether  there  were  any  goblins  hiding  in 
the  cracks  of  the  stone.  As  soon  as  the  little  fellow 
had  moved  away  Dulverton  approached  Hannah. 

"Forgive  the  ruse,"  he  said,  with  a  smile;  "for- 
give a  godfather's  anxiety  for  his  child.  I  want 
to  give  you  a  little  counsel.  May  I  ?" 

"Oh,  please,"  said  Hannah,  strengthening  her 
will  to  look  into  his  grave  eyes. 

He  smiled  and  thanked  her.  "I  want  to  advise 
you  to  shun  the  guests  in  the  castle  as  much  as  pos- 
sible. They  are  excellent  people,  but — well,  they 
are  not  good  company  for  our  boy.  That  is  all.  In 
particular  I  would  advise  you  to  steer  clear  of  Mr. 
Bolt." 

"A  detestable  creature!"  said  Hannah  with 
energy,  glad  to  utter  an  honest  opinion. 

"You  have  met  him?" 

"He  sang  to  Lady  Mane  this  morning.  I  was  in 
the  room." 


IN    QUEST    OF    GOBLINS  6l 

Dulverton  sighed.  "He  is  the  last  man  in  the 
world  who  should  come  into  contact  with  children. 
He  is,  as  you  say,  a  detestable  creature — a  horrid, 
vulgar,  conceited  prig,"  he  added,  with  a  laugh. 
"And,  Miss  Mersey,"  the  voice  grew  low  and  seri- 
ous, "I  am  so  sure  that  our  poor  boy  is  not  very 
long  for  the  world  that  I  want  him  to  be  happy  and 
childlike  till  the  end.  It  is  a  godfather's  justifiable 
desire,  isn't  it?  If  he  reaches  twenty,  let  it  be  as  a 
child." 

Hannah,  with  overflowing  sympathy  in  her  eyes 
and  slightly  quivering  lips,  bowed  as  her  eyes  met 
Dulverton's ;  then  she  turned  and  looked  sadly  after 
the  child. 

"I  must  push  on  to  the  castle,"  said  Michael 
briskly.  "I  will  go  and  shake  Kyn's  hand,  and  then 
I  will  leave  your  sway  undisputed — for  a  little! 
Good-by."  With  a  smile  he  raised  his  hat,  and 
strode  on  ahead  to  bid  his  godson  farewell. 

Hannah  watched  his  figure  moving  over  the  green 
park  long  after  he  had  kissed  Kyn,  and  while  that 
boy  was  babbling  to  her  of  fairies,  dwarfs,  and  gob- 
lins. She  gazed  after  him,  as  the  poet  may  have 
looked  down  on  the  scene  near  Tintern  Abbey, 
when  he  returned  to  find  that  his  soul  had  lost 
something,  gained  something.  She  had  never  known 
in  all  her  life  so  mastering  a  passion  as  this,  so 
thralling  a  domination  of  her  mind.  She  was  like  a 
spaniel  in  her  servitude  to  Dulverton.  She  would 
have  kissed  his  hand  if  he  had  struck  her.  Life 
changed  all  its  colors  and  shapes,  and  presented  in 


62  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

place  of  its  kaleidoscopic  interests  one  central  aim 
and  end.  A  man  had  broken  through  her  clumsy 
web  of  baby  ambition  and  childish  desires;  a  man 
had  come  suddenly  into  her  life,  breaking  down 
all  the  barriers  of  her  existence,  and  binding  her 
soul  to  his  by  the  sheer  power  of  his  own  personal 
magnetism.  A  man — and  such  a  man!  In  her 
dreamings,  in  all  the  romances  she  had  ever  read, 
none  had  appeared  before  her  who  so  completely 
embodied  all  that  is  chivalrous,  all  that  is  strong, 
all  that  is  gentle,  all  that  is  tender,  all  that  is  good. 
The  reader,  who  from  the  chronicler's  weak  words 
has  already  fashioned  his  own  picture  of  Sir 
Michael  Dulverton,  will  smile  indulgently  on  Han- 
nah's ecstatic  devotion.  But  let  him  consider  that 
the  thin  impalpable  Sir  Michael  of  his  imagination 
was  flesh  and  blood  to  Hannah,  that  she  saw  the 
light  in  his  grave  eyes,  heard  the  music  in  his  deep 
voice,  and  felt  the  influence  of  his  live  personality 
on  her  own  live  soul.  Let  him  consider  this,  and  if 
his  experience  has  made  him  acquainted  with  a 
strong  woman  bound  body  and  soul  to  a 
strong  man,  let  him  forget  the  chronicler's  vain 
words  altogether,  and  now  and  then  think  of  that 
woman  and  that  man  as  he  reads  of  Hannah  and  Sir 
Michael. 

When  Dulverton's  figure  had  grown  dim  against 
the  trees  in  the  distance  Hannah  turned  with 
sigh  to  see  what  little  Kyn  was  doing  at  the  water's 
edge.    She  found  herself  face  to  face  with  the  earL 
She  drew  her  hands  up,  gave  a  slight  little  scream. 


IN    QUEST    OF    GOBLINS  63 

and  then  smiled,  while  her  bosom  rose  and  fell,  and 
her  breath  came  in  little  gasps. 

"Who  are  you  ?"  said  the  earl,  in  a  squeaky  voice, 
blinking  at  Hannah  with  his  cunning  green  eyes. 
He  was  dressed  as  she  had  seen  him  on  the  previous 
:day,  and  as  he  leaned  against  a  long  spud,  held  in 
the  right  hand,  he  leisurely  employed  a  gold  tooth- 
pick in  his  mouth.  Hannah  noticed  that  in  spite  of 
his  rough,  untidy  clothes,  his  collar  was  white  and 
firm,  his  cravat  beautifully  tied. 

"I  am  Miss  Mersey,"  she  said. 

"And  what  are  you  ?'"  he  persisted. 

"Governess  to  Lord  Kyn." 

The  earl  cackled.  "And  do  you  know  who  I  am  ? 
I'm  your  master!  Your  lord  and  master.  Ain't 
that  funny,  now?" 

He  cackled  and  blinked  with  delight.  "You  look 
a  very  kind  master,  my  lord,"  said  Hannah,  smiling 
her  sweetest  smile. 

"Kind  be  damned!"  squeaked  his  lordship.  "I 
haven't  been  kind  to  anythin'  excep'  cattle  ever  since 
Kyn  was  born.  Are  you  fond  of  cattle?  Look  at 
them!"  he  exclaimed,  pointing  suddenly  with  his 
toothpick  to  a  herd  of  shorthorns.  "They're  a  fine 
lot,  ain't  they?  Proofy  bullocks,  eh?  All  cows  in 
the  West  Country  are  bullocks.  Did  you  know  that  ? 
And  what  do  I  mean  by  proofy,  eh  ?" 

Hannah,  who  knew  the  West  Country  well,  re- 
plied with  smiling  eyes,  that  the  word  conveyed 
everything  complimentary  about  bullocks,  and  that 
to  circumscribe  it  to  one  definition  would  be  to  lower 


64  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

the  dignity  of  the  word.  The  old  gentleman  cackled, 
well  pleased,  and  turned  on  his  heel.  Presently  he 
slowly  turned  round  and  beckoned  the  girl  to  his 
side. 

"What  were  you  lookin'  at  just  now,  eh?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"When,  my  lord  ?"  said  Hannah,  all  maiden  inno- 
cence. 

"When  I  caught  you  at  it !" 

"I  was  looking  at  the  gardens,"  Hannah  an- 
swered. 

"Gardens  be  damned!  You  were  starin'  after 
Dulv." 

Hannah  laughed  her  quiet,  low  laugh  that  was  no 
laugh  at  all.  "I  don't  think  so,  my  lord,"  she  said 
sweetly. 

"Take  my  advice  and  don't,"  said  the  earl. 
"You're  Kyn's  governess,  and  I'm  your  master. 
Don't  forget  that." 

His  eyes  blinked  maliciously  under  the  dozen  long 
red  hairs  that  stuck  out  over  each  green  orb  and 
served  as  eyebrows.  His  red  face,  innocent  of  all 
lines  and  wrinkles,  shone  like  a  schoolboy's  fresh 
from  the  tub,  and  the  tip  of  his  long,  narrow  nose 
twitched  like  a  terrier's.  Hannah  found  it  very  hard 
to  keep  that  sweet,  innocent  look  on  her  face  as  she 
stood  before  her  lord  and  master. 

"I  shall  always  strive  to  do  my  duty,  my  lord," 
she  said  quietly. 

"Don't  talk  like  a  damned  copy-book !  Your  eyes 
contradic'  you." 

"My  eyes,  my  lord?" 


IN    QUEST    OF    GOBLINS  65 

"They're  devilish  good  eyes,"  said  his  lordship, 
and  cackling  to  himself  he  once  more  turned  and 
walked  away. 

Hannah  returned  to  Kyn  with  a  hundred  conflict- 
ing thoughts  in  her  mind.  But  the  thought  upper- 
most there  bore  reference  to  Michael  Dulverton,  and 
not  to  Lord  Mane.  How  to  propitiate  him.  How 
to  act  so  that  he  might  learn  to  respect,  and  perhaps 
love  her.  Yes,  it  must  be  acting,  for  if  those  grave 
eyes  of  his  could  see  into  her  mind  would  he  not 
turn  away  from  her  with  loathing  and  pity?  She 
must  act  love  for  little  Kyn,  she  must  act  devotion 
to  that  frail  child,  act  motherly  affection  of  the 
purest,  most  exalted  kind.  Through  the  boy  whom 
he  loved  she  must  reach  his  heart.  But  if  Lord 
Mane,  with  his  leering,  green  eyes,  was  to  be  for- 
ever watching  her  how  could  she  hope  to  play  that 
part  with  success? 

"Come  along,  Kyn,"  she  cried,  going  to  the 
water's  edge,  where  the  boy  was  busily  peering  for 
his  goblins. 

The  child  came  at  once.  "You  don't  seem  to  take 
much  interest  in  fairies,"  he  said,  a  little  reproach- 
fully. 

"Your  father  was  talking  to  me,"  Hannah  an- 
swered. 

"I  know,"  said  the  child;  "that  was  why  I  kept 
my  back  turned." 

When  they  drew  near  the  castle  Hannah  looked 
across  the  gardens  to  where  the  guests  were  stand- 
ing in  little  groups.  Sir  Michael  was  talking  to 
Lady  Mane. 


VI. 

THE  READER  FINDS  HIMSELF  IN  SMART  SOCIETY. 

THE  reader,  if  he  be  at  all  fastidious,  will  prob- 
ably give  the  author  small  thanks  for  intro- 
ducing him  to  Lady  Mane's  guests — "flaunting 
pagins,"  in  the  language  of  Miss  Miggs,  with  noth- 
ing to  do  but  "titivate  theirselves  into  whitening 
and  suppulchres."  But  as  it  will  be  almost  impos- 
sible to  move  about  the  corridors  and  apartments 
of  the  castle  without  running  into  some  of  these 
smart  people,  the  author,  with  his  hand  on  his  heart, 
begs  the  reader  to  put  up  with  their  acquaintance 
for  a  few  minutes,  swearing  to  be  over  with  the 
introduction  at  lightning  speed. 

Here  we  are,  then,  reader,  in  the  very  midst  of 
"smart"  society.  Not  one  case  of  man-and-wife  to 
make  us  feel  middle-class,  or  provincial,  or  dull. 
All  is  modern,  all  is  fashionable,  all  is  "fast."  True, 
we  have  an  obese,  red-faced  duchess  with  canary- 
colored  hair — who  is  a  race-owner,  and  can  swear 
more  volubly  than  any  stable-boy — to  give  the  party 
a  respectable  appearance;  but  even  that  vulgar  old 
sinner  cannot  dull  the  polish  and  brilliance  of  the 
other,  youthful  guests.  Olley  Bolt  is  there,  the 
writer  of  pretty  verses,  the  writer  of  "smart"  plays 
that  are  acted  in  certain  drawing-rooms — the  man 

no  one  knows  anything  about,  but  at  whose  feet  all 
66 


IN   SMART   SOCIETY  67 

smart  people  have  elected  to  kneel ;  no  house  can  be 
dull  or  vulgar  with  Olley  Bolt  under  its  roof.  Then 
there  is  young  Lord  Escott,  twelfth  Marquess  Es- 
cott,  whose  reputation  for  wasting  money  and  break- 
ing hearts  began  during  his  first  year  at  Oxford, 
when  every  don  was  blacking  his  boots,  and  who  is 
now  considered  one  of  the  most  splendid  young 
rakes  of  our  tame,  middle-class,  society.  Es- 
cott is  a  capital  fellow,  and  rather  proud  of  being 
Olley  Bolt's  friend;  he  has,  of  course,  been  very 
generous  to  Olley,  but  when  a  man  is  credited  with 
possessing  some  forty  or  fifty  thousand  a  year  .he 
can,  without  fear  of  being  called  toady,  patronize 
impecunious  men  of  letters.  Mrs.  "Bobby"  Robin- 
son is  in  the  party,  of  course.  What  party  could 
hope  to  be  smart  without  Mrs.  Bobby?  Bobby  is 
such  good  fun.  Bobby  makes  everything  go  off 
well.  Was  it  not  Mrs.  Bobby  who  reintroduced 
hunt-the-slipper  into  modern  drawing-rooms — the 
game  that  every  smart  country-house  now  plays  on 
wet  afternoons?  Of  course  it  was  Mrs.  Bobby. 
Mrs.  Bobby  whose  Mr.  Bobby  is  nobody.  One  has 
heard  of  him  occasionally,  but  he  is  an  unreal,  un- 
convincing person  of  the  imagination.  There  is 
some  talk  of  Mr.  Bobby  going  to  his  club  every 
morning  and  sitting  there,  first  in  a  corner  of  the 
morning-room,  then  in  a  corner  of  the  reading-room, 
then  at  the  worst  table  in  the  luncheon-room,  and 
then  in  the  smoking-room — where  he  drops  off  to 
sleep  in  his  neglected  corner  over  the  Globe  that  old 
Colonel  Muster  is  searching  for  with  his  glass  in  his 


68  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

fishy  eye.  But  that  is  gossip;  one  knows  nothing 
of  Mr.  Robinson,  except  that  nobody  ever  dreams  of 
calling  him  Bobby.  Our  concern  is  only  with  the 
universal  Mrs.  Bobby. 

If  you  meet  a  woman  whistling  a  music-hall  air 
in  the  corridors,  be  sure  that  is  Mrs.  Bobby.  She 
walks  with  her  body  inclined  forward,  swinging  her 
arms,  her  straw-hat  tilted  very  much  over  her  eyes. 
She  is  very  strong  and  very  athletic.  She  calls  herself 
a  first-flight  man,  and  is  fairly  described  as  a  crack 
shot.  Excellent  Mrs.  Bobby!  I  meet  you  some- 
times; you  sometimes  give  me  a  word,  and  that, 
think  you,  is  all  ?  No.  No,  for  I  watch  you  often. 
I  watch  the  expressions  that  flit  across  your  little, 
round,  sunburnt  face ;  see  sometimes  the  lines  harden 
about  your  uneasy  lips;  see  sometimes  the  hunger 
and  thirst  of  a  starving  soul  in  your  cold,  sad  eyes. 
And  you  set  me  thinking,  thinking  of  the  grace  of 
a  day  that  is  dead,  and  of  your  own  poor  little  soul. 
You  are  very  generous,  very  jolly,  a  very  good 
friend ;  but  you  have  not  one  single  lofty  or  unself- 
ish aim  in  life,  you  give  not  a  passing  thought  to 
the  God  who  made  you,  or  to  the  Death  awaiting 
you  at  the  end.  For  you  exists  neither  Heaven  nor 
Hell ;  for  you  there  is  neither  Good  nor  Evil.  You 
will  be  jolly  while  you  can;  your  appetites  shall 
have  their  sop  whatever  the  world  may  say.  In  the 
fire  of  spring  you  have  flung  your  winter  garment 
of  Repentance. 

The  Bird  of  Time  has  but  a  little  way 
To  flutter — and  the  Bird  is  on  the  wing. 


IN   SMART    SOCIETY  69 

Yes,  but  the  fire  of  spring  is  burning  down,  Mrs. 
Bobby,  and  when  the  last  little  flame  flickers  and 
dies  you  will  be  cold  in  your  nakedness.  Then, 
maybe,  you  will  want  your  winter  garment.  You 
will  go  and  rake  away  the  charred  embers  to  see  if 
by  the  luck  of  Shadrach,  Meshach,  and  Abednego 
it  has  been  spared  by  the  flames  that  warmed  you. 
You  will  search,  and  you  will  find  dust  and  ashes. 

But  away  with  melancholy!  Mrs.  Blazer  is  in 
the  party — the  celebrated  Mrs.  Blazer,  the  actress 
whose  affairs  of  the  heart  (or  should  we  say  affairs 
of  the  purse?)  are  the  property  of  every  lover  of 
gossip.  Ask  the  journalistic  Scraps  about  Mrs. 
Blazer !  Ask  the  literary  Bits !  By  Jove,  sir,  you'll 
hear  strange  stories !  Scraps  knew  one  of  the  hus- 
bands personally,  and  Bits  once  ran  up  against  a 
little  girl  in  St.  James's  Restaurant  who  had  been 
Mrs.  Blazer's  maid.  Oh,  those  stories  about  Mrs. 
Blazer!  Bits  dare  only  hint  at  them  in  his  paper, 
but  if  you  meet  him  at  "Jimmy's,"  give  him  a  whisky 
and  soda  and  he  will  tell  you  in  extenso.  Then, 
then,  dear  reader,  you  will  understand  why  the  beau- 
tiful Mrs.  Blazer  is  so  popular  in  smart  society. 
As  Bits  says,  "She's  a  real  stunner."  See  her  at  a 
charity  bazaar,  see  her  on  the  stage,  see  her  in  Lady 
Mane's  drawing-room !  Oh,  yes,  Mrs.  B.  is  a  real 
stunner. 

Of  course  Captain  Boot  is  there,  and  Mr.  Adol- 
phus  Solomon — equally  of  course.  Boot  is  asked 
because  Mrs.  Bobby  is  there,  and  Mr.  Solomon  be- 
cause the  red-faced  duchess  likes  him,  and  is  inter- 


70  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

ested  in  South  Africans.  It  is,  by  the  way,  quite 
remarkable  how  Lady  Mane  has  selected  her  guests. 
As  Sir  Charles  Orpington  remarked:  "At  Kyn  you 
always  meet  the  right  people."  Sir  Charles,  for  in- 
stance, had  met  Mrs.  Pottington.  Mr.  Pottington 
could  not  be  asked  because  he  was  in  India,  and 
Lady  Orpington  was  staying  with  the  Richesters  in 
Glamorganshire,  where,  as  it  happened,  Tommy 
Jinks  of  the  Guards  happened  to  be  staying.  So 
Lady  Orpington  was  happy,  and  Sir  Charles  was 
happy.  They  were  miles  asunder,  each  breaking 
most  of  the  Ten  Commandments  as  light-heartedly 
as  they  broke  bread  at  table.  Happy,  happy  couple ! 
To  be  staying  in  the  same  house  together  would 
have  been  insufferable. 

But  really  it  is  impossible  to  go  on  ticking  off  the 
guests  with  all  this  clatter  in  the  house.  They  are 
actually  playing  hide-and-seek!  Not  the  sort  of 
hide-and-seek  old  Gregory  Brough  played  with  his 
children  at  dull,  middle-class  Poyntz,  of  course; 
there  one  person  hid  and  all  sought  indiscriminately. 
Here  two  people  hide,  and  the  seekers  go  in  pairs. 
Sir  Charles  Orpington  and  Mrs.  Pottington,  for  in- 
stance, have  gone  to  hide.  Sir  Charles  suggests  the 
south  corridor;  the  lady  gathers  up  her  skirts  and 
scampers  on  ahead,  Sir  Charles  at  a  convenient  dis- 
tance follows  twirling  his  mustache.  Mrs.  Potting- 
ton finds  an  odd  little  door  and  opens  it.  There  are 
three  stone  stairs.  "Shall  we  try  it?"  Sir  Charles 
thinks  it  might  lead  somewhere,  and  down  they  go. 
The  passage  is  dark,  the  lady  is  frightened.  Sir 


IN   SMART    SOCIETY  71 

Charles,  bold  as  a  lion,  takes  her  hand.  They  go 
rather  more  slowly — for,  you  see,  the  passage  is 
dark — and  presently  reach  another  door — an  odd 
sliding  door,  like  a  panel.  Sir  Charles  pulls  it  back 
and  goes  in.  The  room  is  small,  and  does  not  seem 
as  if  its  window  is  often  open.  There  is  a  gun 
leaning  against  the  wall  in  one  corner,  a  mud-spat- 
tered pair  of  thick  boots  on  the  hearthrug,  a  whisky 
decanter  with  water  and  glasses  on  the  table.  Pipes 
everywhere,  and  tobacco-jars  and  dirty  old  cigar 
boxes. 

"We  are  in  the  butler's  drawing-room,  I  imagine," 
says  Sir  Charles. 

"No,  I'm  damned  if  you  are!"  says  a  squeaky 
voice. 

Sir  Charles  and  Mrs.  Pottington  wheel  round. 
The  earl  has  come  in  behind  them,  in  his  stockings, 
a  pair  of  clean  boots  in  his  hand,  a  pipe  in  his 
mouth. 

"No,  I'm  damned  if  you  are !" 

Sir  Charles  raises  his  eyebrows.  "Lord  Mane,  I 
believe  ?" 

"I  believe  so,  too,"  squeaks  the  earl. 

"We're  playing  hide-and-seek,"  Mrs.  Pottington 
says  very  graciously. 

"What !  you  ?"  asks  the  earl,  his  eyebrows  twitch- 
ing. 

"Yes,"  Mrs.  Pottington  answers,  a  little  uneasily. 

The  earl  chuckles.  "Is  that  the  last  invention  of 
society?"  he  asks. 

Sir  Charles,  his  eyebrows  still  in  the  air,  makes 


72  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

answer,  "A  very  innocent  game :  won't  you  join  us, 
my  lord?" 

"I'll  join  you  so  far  as  to  ask  you  not  to  hide  in 
my  room,"  answers  the  earl,  pulling  on  his  boots. 
"You've  got  the  rest  of  the  castle  to  yourselves,  I 
believe.  All  the  bedrooms,  except  mine,  all  the  sit- 
ting-rooms, except  mine." 

Mrs.  Pottington,  with  the  best  intention  in  the 
world,  asks  the  earl  to  suggest  a  good  hiding-place. 
"Some  place,"  she  says,  in  her  pretty,  childlike  man- 
ner, "where  nobody,  not  even  the  countess,  can  find 
us!" 

The  earl  by  this  time  has  laced  up  his  boots. 
"Some  place  where  nobody'll  find  you  ?"  he  squeaks, 
chuckling. 

"That  would  be  capital,"  says  Sir  Charles. 

"Ever  heard  of  Kyn's  Way?"  demands  the  earl. 

Neither  of  them  had. 

"My  ancestor  Kyn  had  his  own  staircases  in  the 
old  castle,"  said  the  earl,  "and  they  preserved  part 
of  'em  when  they  built  this  place.  No  one  knows 
the  entrance  but  me,  and  there's  no  way  out.  Will 
that  suit  you  ?  You  won't  be  disturbed  there." 

Mrs.  Pottington  said  it  sounded  too  ghostly.  Sir 
Charles  said  he  hated  passages  and  staircases.  At 
this  moment  the  rustle  of  a  skirt  was  heard  in  the 
corridor ;  there  was  the  distant  sound  of  voices.  All 
three  held  their  breath.  The  voices  came  nearer. 
At  last  they  could  be  distinguished.  The  deep  voice 
of  the  man,  the  hard,  metallic  voice  of  the  woman. 


IN   SMART   SOCIETY  73 

"I  think  it  such  a  mistake,"  said  the  woman,  "to 
talk  about  that  sort  of  thing  as  love." 

"In  a  thousand  cases,  yes,"  said  the  man  earnest- 
ly; "but " 

They  turned  the  corner,  and  came  face  to  face 
with  Sir  Charles,  Mrs.  Pottington,  and  the  earl. 
Olley  Bolt's  jaws  dropped  for  an  instant.  The 
countess  ran  forward,  laughing  gaily.  "I  knew  we 
should  find  you,"  she  said ;  "but  what  a  silly  place  to 
hide,  and  how  very  unpleasant,  too !  Stale  tobacco, 

the  odor  of  whisky,  and "  She  looked  at  her 

husband.  "You  must  have  been  very  dull." 

Sir  Charles  glanced  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eyes 
at  Lord  Mane.  The  little  earl  appeared  to  be  quite 
cowed.  All  his  fierceness,  all  his  cynicism,  had 
melted  away.  He  stood  there  with  his  head  bent  for- 
ward, his  eyes  lowered,  his  fingers  picking  at  the 
ends  of  his  coat. 

"Too  bad  of  you,"  said  the  countess,  "to  disturb 
my  husband's  privacy.  We  were  going  to  look  for 
you  on  the  turret  staircase  at  the  end  of  the  corridor. 
If  you  had  shut  this  door  we  should  have  missed 
you." 

"Mrs.  Pottington  could  never  hide  her  light  under 
a  bushel,"  said  Olley  Bolt,  in  his  rich  vibrating 
voice,  as  the  countess  moved  away. 

In  the  meantime  Captain  Boot  and  Mrs.  Bobby 
are  hunting  for  Sir  Charles  and  Mrs.  Pottington  in 
the  card-room,  with  the  door  shut.  The  obese 
duchess  with  canary-colored  hair  has  just  given  Mr. 
Adolphus  Solomon  an  invitation  to  bring  Mrs.  Sol- 


74  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

omon  to  her  place  at  Newmarket,  and  while  they 
seek  for  the  hiders  Mr.  Solomon  begs  the  duchess  to 
accept  a  few  shares  in  South  Africans  with  his  very 
sincere  good  wishes.  Lord  Escott  and  Mrs.  Blazer 
are  in  one  of  the  conservatories  looking  for  Sir 
Charles  and  Mrs.  Pottington.  Little  Mrs.  Pillar  is 
walking  through  the  corridor  upstairs  with  the  Hon- 
orable Tom  Stump  whispering  secrets  in  her  ear. 
Lady  Skeyne  and  Mrs.  Risker-Champington,  on 
hands  and  knees,  are  looking  under  tables  and  chairs 
in  the  hall;  while  Willie  Dodge,  son  of  the  great 
shipowner,  and  Lord  Alex  Raven,  son  of  the  Duke 
of  Blackaven,  smoke  cigarettes  and  praise  the  ladies 
for  their  grace  and  agility  with  a  good  many  very 
clever  quips. 

But  it  would  be  unjust  to  let  the  reader  think  that 
smart  society  is  always  thus  flippantly  employed. 
Hunt-the-slipper,  hide-and-seek,  blindman's  buff, 
and  all  the  simple,  innocent  games  they  play,  are  but 
relaxation  from  the  main  and  serious  business  of 
their  lives.  We  have  seen  them  laughing,  chaffing, 
groveling  on  hands  and  knees,  like  so  many  jolly 
boys  and  girls.  Let  us,  now  that  darkness  has  set 
in,  now  that  the  lights  are  bright  in  the  card-room, 
slip  in  quietly  there  and  peep  over  the  shoulders  of 
the  earnest,  serious  punters. 

As  we  go  through  the  doors  we  hear  the  nasal 
voice  of  Mr.  Adolphus  Solomon  crying,  "Faites  vos 
jeux!  faites  vos  jeux!"  The  roulette  is  spinning; 
the  marble  is  about  to  drop.  "Faites  vos  jeux!  faites 
vos  jeux!" 


IN   SMART   SOCIETY  75 

The  duchess,  her  fat,  naked  arms  on  the  table, 
one  finger  rubbing  her  old  red  nose,  has  just  slipped 
a  sovereign  on  to  the  board.  "Manque,"  says  Captain 
Boot,  slipping  half  a  sovereign  forward.  "Thir- 
teen," laughs  Lord  Escort,  pushing  a  sovereign  on 
to  the  square.  Then  you  see  Mrs.  Bobby  put  two 
half-crowns  on  the  premiere  douzaine;  Lord  Alex 
his  ten  shillings  on  passe.  Olley  Bolt,  looking  very 
black  and  earnest,  slips  half  a  sovereign  slowly  into 
impair.  The  countess,  sitting  at  his  side,  puts  a 
sovereign  beside  it.  This  is  all  done  very  quickly. 
The  faces  strain  over  the  green  cloth;  the  only 
words  heard  are  "Manque,"  "Passe,"  "Rouge," 
"Noir"  "Pair"  "Impair"  muttered  between  set 
teeth,  as  if  each  tongue  uttered  them  to  itself.  Mrs. 
Bobby's  lively  smile  has  gone ;  Mrs.  Blazer,  who  has 
backed  rouge,  forgets  to  make  play  with  her  eyes ; 
Sir  Charles  tugs  at  his  mustache,  and  does  not  even 
think  of  Mrs.  Pottington's  existence.  Escort  is 
calm ;  but  a  man  with  forty  or  fifty  thousand  a  year 
can  afford  to  fling  away  his  thirty  pounds  without 
looking  as  if  he  were  wrestling  with  devils  for  his 
soul.  Escott,  then,  is  calm,  and  Sir  Michael  Dulver- 
ton,  who  is  a  guest  to-night,  and  who  is  as  poor  as 
a  church  mouse,  and  therefore  does  not  gamble  very 
heavily,  is  calm  also.  He  merely  looks  on,  or,  when 
his  eyes  are  not  on  the  table,  at  Lady  Mane.  The 
only  other  cool  person  at  the  table  is  the  honorary 
croupier,  Mr.  Adolphus  Solomon,  who  is  smoking  a 
big  cigar,  and  rattling  the  seals  that  dangle  from  his 


76  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

thick  gold  watch-chain  in  quite  a  professional  man- 
ner. 

"Le  jeu  est  fait!"  he  cries.  There  is  the  sharp 
click  of  the  marble  as  it  strikes  the  cylinder.  "Le 
jeu  est  fait!  Rien  ne  va  plus," 

A  silence  of  death  settles  in  the  room.  Sir  Charles's 
cigarette  smokes  fiercely  between  his  fingers  rest- 
ing on  the  edge  of  the  table.  Mrs.  Bobby's  eyes  grow 
very  bright  and  hard.  Mrs.  Blazer  nibbles  her  lower 
lip.  The  old  duchess  rubs  her  old  nose,  with  knit 
brows,  her  great  breast  rising  and  falling  with  the 
monotony  of  a  gasometer.  Olley  Bolt  sits  up  very 
straight  in  his  chair,  but  the  fingers  round  his  tum- 
bler of  whisky  and  apollinaris  are  shifting  restlessly. 
-Lady  Skeyne  and  Mrs.  Risker-Champington  are 
flushed  and  hot;  when  they  were  crawling  under 
chairs  and  tables  they  were  as  cool  and  collected  as 
a  churchwarden's  wife  stalking  to  the  family  pew. 
Oh !  the  little  tempest  in  each  human  mind  bending 
over  that  green  cloth !  Men  who  might  be  struggling 
nobly  in  the  cause  of  empire,  women  who  might  be 
rearing  the  conquerors  of  another  generation  in  the 
faith  and  courage  of  their  forefathers!  Oh!  the 
vulgarity  of  it,  the  littleness,  the  waste,  the  waste, 
the  waste! 

"Thirteen!"  says  Adolphus  Solomon. 

A  sigh  of  suppressed  excitement.  Escott  lights  a 
cigar,  and  takes  his  thirty-five  sovereigns  as  easily 
as  an  agricultural  laborer  takes  his  twelve  shillings 
at  the  end  of  a  week's  toil.  Mrs.  Bobby  begins  to 
laugh,  Mrs.  Pottington  to  talk,  Sir  Charles  to  rally 


IN   SMART   SOCIETY  77 

Escott,  the  countess  to  say  something  about  unlucky 
numbers,  Olley  to  smile,  and — to  restore  the  general 
harmony — the  old  duchess  to  swear.  "I've  the 
devil's  own  luck  at  roulette,"  says  her  grace ; 
"damned  if  I  can  win  a  six-pence !  Here,  give  me 
a  brandy  and  soda,  somebody.  I  want  inspiration." 
Everybody  laughs ;  the  old  lady's  fat  back  shakes, 
her  shoulders  go  up  and  down,  and  she  gets  purple 
in  the  face. 

"Faites  vos  jeuxl"  says  Adolphus  again. 

Faites  vos  jeux!  Reader,  let  us  get  out  of  this 
atmosphere.  The  smoke,  the  whisky,  the  brandy, 
the  heat,  those  hard  devilish  faces,  those  poor 
strained  eyes,  glazed  like  those  of  a  criminal  in  the 
dock, — they  are  bad  for  us,  very  bad.  Slip  your  arm 
through  mine,  and  we  will  go  and  smoke  a  pipe 
under  the  stars.  High  above  "this  precious  jewel 
set  in  a  silver  sea"  the  stars  shine  as  they  shone 
when  Arthur's  knights  rode  out,  redressing  human 
wrong,  when  Milton  communed  in  the  darkness  with 
God. 

The  dew  whitens  the  great  park,  where  the  deer 
stalk  like  ghosts,  where  the  kine  lie  at  peace.  The 
wind  that  moves  across  the  still  land  is  fragrant  of 
the  earth,  yet  seems  in  its  crisp  freshness  to  bring 
us  "murmurs  and  scents  of  the  infinite  sea."  The 
world  is  wider  here ;  the  very  infinitude  of  God  seems 
knowable.  We  stand  in  silence  on  the  old  stone 
paths  of  Elizabethan  days,  looking  up  through  the 
leafless  boughs  at  those  unnumbered  worlds  burning 
white  in  the  blue  vault  of  heaven,  and  then — then  we 


78  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

hear  the  Hebraic  voice,  hard  and  discordant  on  the 
stillness  of  the  night — 

"Le  jeu  est  fait!" 

The  spell  is  broken !  Let  us  light  our  pipes,  take 
a  turn  under  these  immemorial  oaks,  and  then  creep 
off  to  our  beds — "creep,  and  let  no  more  be  said." 


VII 

HANNAH'S  FORTUNES  TAKE  A  STRANGE  TURN 

HANNAH  became  prodigiously  interested  in 
her  work.  The  spirit  of  Ambition  who,  it 
will  be  remarked,  whispered  in  her  mind  as  he 
stretched  himself  on  wakening  from  long  sleep, 
had  not  deceived  her.  Kyn  Castle  provided  her  with 
a  large  theater ;  life  here  was  on  the  grand  scale,  and 
romance  of  the  most  intoxicating  kind  was  some- 
thing more  than  a  girl's  dream. 

In  the  first  place  there  was  Sir  Michael  Dulver- 
ton.  To  Hannah  every  day  was  big  with  possibility 
because  every  day  she  saw  this  god  and  worshiped 
him  in  her  heart.  They  talked  together,  hunted  for 
fairies  together,  and  exchanged  many  words  over 
the  head  of  the  child  who  held  their  two  hands. 
Hannah's  happiness  was  sometimes  clouded  by  look- 
ing up  suddenly  to  find  Michael's  eyes  fixed  upon 
her  face  coldly,  critically,  with  doubt  and  brooding 
suspicion.  Her  conscience  smote  her  sharply  on 
these  occasions,  and  often  she  prayed  in  her  soul 
with  great  longing  for  that  innocence  and  in- 
genuousness which  would  appeal  irresistibly  to  a 
man  of  Dulverton's  fine  character.  But  it  was  not 
always  thus,  and  every  time  Hannah  met  Sir 
Michael  the  dream  that  some  day  he  might  draw 
nearer  to  her  waxed  a  little  stronger. 
79 


8o  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

There  were  other  things  that  quickened  Hannah's 
interest  in  her  work.  She  felt  convinced  that  there 
was  some  strange  connecting  mystery  in  the  lives  of 
many  of  the  people  in  the  castle.  Her  first  problem 
was  the  earl.  On  a  hundred  ocasions  she  met  him 
in  the  park,  and  every  time  he  would  stop  and  con- 
verse with  her,  paying  not  the  slightest  attention  to 
his  elfin  child.  And  in  these  conversations  there 
was  much  to  arouse  Hannah's  interest.  His  favorite 
topic  was  agricultural,  and  he  was  wont  to  chuckle 
with  huge  delight  over  Hannah's  intelligent  an- 
swers to  his  questions;  but  he  introduced  other 
subjects  as  well.  On  one  occasion,  when  they  were 
at  some  distance  from  the  castle,  he  took  off  his 
odd  little  flat-shaped  billycock  hat,  and  asked  Han- 
nah to  guess  his  age. 

The  girl  smiled,  and  said  he  looked  much 
younger  without  his  hat.  This  was  strictly  true,  for 
the  peer's  narrow  head  was  covered  with  a  thick 
thatch  of  long,  lanky,  yellow  hair  that  fell  to  his 
ears  in  what  his  lordship's  hairdresser  described  as 
"luxuriant  profusion."  It  gave  him  a  very  juvenile 
look,  in  spite  of  the  little  old  face  and  the  red 
whiskers. 

"But  how  old,  eh?"  persisted  the  earl. 

"If  I  say  forty  will  it  make  you  very  angry  ?" 

Lord  Mane  drove  his  spud  into  the  ground  with 
a  hearty  sniggle.  "No,  damn  me  if  it  will  make 
me  angry.  Forty  years  old ;  you've  hit  it  first  shot. 
You've  got  a  good  eye,  a  devilish  good  eye.  You 
guessed  the  age  of  that  red  bullock  yest'day  aft'- 


HANNAH'S   FORTUNES  Si 

noon.  You  know  a  thing  or  two,  damn  me  if  you 
don't,"  and  off  he  went  chuckling  in  great  happi- 
ness. 

A  day  or  two  afterwards  Hannah  was  passing 
through  the  hamlet  with  Kyn,  when  old  Timothy 
Budge,  who  was  sitting  on  the  bench  outside  the 
"Cripple's  Ease,"  asked  to  be  allowed  the  honor 
of  shaking  the  little  lord's  hand.  Then  he  grew 
talkative. 

"His  father  and  me  was  boys  together,"  he  said, 
"and  that's  more'n  sixty  years  agone." 

"Indeed,"  said  Hannah ;  "I  had  no  idea  Lord 
Mane  was  over  sixty." 

"To  be  truthful — which  is  what  we  always  should 
be  if  we  can't  help  it,"  replied  old  Timothy,  grin- 
ning all  over  his  pleasant,  rubicund  face — "to  be 
truthful,  his  lordship  is  sixty-five  and  I  be  sixty- 
seven,  beating  his  lordship  by  two,  and  likely  to 
keep  the  lead.  But  he  wears  better  than  me.  I 
married  young,  and  reared  fourteen  children;  his 
lordship  married  late,  and  has" — the  old  fellow 
checked  himself — "our  gallant  little  lord  here." 

So  Hannah  found  that  the  earl  was  not  quite 
truthful,  but  she  was  puzzled  to  know  what  his 
object  could  be  in  deceiving  her. 

Two  events  happened  shortly  after  this  which 
further  increased  her  interest  in  the  mystery  sur- 
rounding Kyn  Castle.  Once  when  she  was  talking 
to  the  earl  in  the  woods,  affecting  a  beautiful  belief 
in  the  poet's  ideal  of  "plain  living  and  high  think- 
ing"— only  because  she  knew  he  hated  the  other 


32  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

extreme — her  eye  caught  a  slight  movement  of  a 
garment  behind  one  of  the  trees,  and  she  was  just 
in  time  to  see  Mr.  Oliver  Bolt  disappear  in  the 
distance.  She  was  being  watched,  then. 

The  other  event  was  an  interview  with  Mrs. 
Whittle,  in  which  that  silent,  hatchet-faced  woman 
informed  her  that  Lady  Mane  wished  Lord  Kyn's 
exercise  restricted  solely  to  what  was  called  the 
Woodland  Garden  during  the  time  that  guests  were 
staying  at  the  castle.  The  Woodland  Garden  was 
near  the  castle,  and  in  leafless  winter  could  be 
overlooked,  end  to  end,  from  the  windows  in  one 
of  the  wings  of  the  castle.  Surprised  by  this  order, 
Hannah  had  nothing  to  do  but  obey  and  seek  out 
reasons  for  this  move.  She  saw  Michael  Dulverton 
as  often  as  before,  but  the  earl  never  came  near  her. 
At  last  one  morning,  many  days  after  the  order 
had  been  given,  and  when  Hannah  was  sitting  on  a 
broad  rustic  seat  under  one  of  the  trees  telling  Kyn 
a  fairy  tale,  Lord  Mane,  with  a  leer  on  his  face, 
carrying  his  spud  as  usual,  came  to  the  end  of  the 
garden,  halted,  and  called  Kyn  to  his  side.  The 
boy  was  as  much  surprised  as  Hannah  by  the  earl's 
sudden  and  mysterious  appearance,  but  he  went 
to  his  father,  and,  to  his  intense  astonishment,  was 
caught  up  in  the  earl's  arms. 

"Why  don't  little  Kyn  bring  Miss  Thingmegum 
to  the  farm,  eh  ?  Ain't  he  fond  of  pigs,  and  poultry, 
and  cows,  and  ponies,  eh  ?" 

"I  think  I  am,"  the  child  answered  doubtfully. 

"Well,  then,  you  bring  Miss  What's-her-name 


HANNAH'S   FORTUNES  83 

down  there  in  the  mornin's,  after  you've  had  a  good 
breakfas',  about  nine  o'clock.  See?  People  who 
live  under  windows,"  he  said,  in  a  very  meaning 
tone,  never  taking  his  eyes  from  the  boy,  "get 
overlooked."  Then  he  set  the  child  down  and 
stalked  away,  without  even  having  once  looked  at 
Hannah. 

Hannah  had  glanced  hastily,  but  secretly,  up  to 
the  windows  of  the  castle  as  he  spoke  his  last 
words,  and  there,  looking  down  at  them  with  black 
brows  and  stern  interest,  was  the  mysterious  house- 
keeper, Mrs.  Whittle. 

What  was  this  mystery?  Evidently  Lord  Mane 
wished  to  speak  to  her  privately ;  evidently  he 
dared  not  even  look  in  her  direction  while  they 
were  under  the  observation  of  this  silent,  black- 
browed  woman,  who  ruled  his  house.  She  began 
to  wonder  what  it  was  that  Lord  Mane  wished  to 
say:  why  it  was  he  feared  Mrs.  Whittle.  He  had 
specially  suggested  the  time  for  their  interview  at 
the  farm  at  an  hour  when  that  silent  matron  was 
most  engaged,  and  when  she  was  least  likely  to 
be  keeping  vigil  over  the  Woodland  Garden  from 
her  window — to  be  aware  of  Hannah's  absence. 
But  long  as  Hannah  thought,  she  could  arrive  at 
no  satisfactory  answers  to  her  questions,  and  she 
resolved  to  put  the  worry  of  them  away  from  her, 
at  any  rate  until  after  the  interview  with  the  earl. 

"In  the  meantime,"  said  Hannah  to  herself,  "I, 
too,  will  play  the  interesting  part  of  spy.  Mrs. 
Whittle,  you  and  I  are  evidently  playing  different 


34  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

games ;  you  have  been  watching  me,  and  have  got 
the  start;  you  have  also  got  a  surer  position  in 
the  household  than  I;  but  I  am  young,  my  brain 
is  healthfully  active,  and  I  love  victory  so  very 
much  that  you  will  have  to  fight  hard  to  win.  You 
watch  me,  you  black  beast;  I  will  watch  you."  The 
result  was  with  the  gods. 

But  there  was  one  difficulty  at  the  outset.  If 
she  went  to  the  farm,  even  if  Mrs.  Whittle  were 
not  guarding  the  Woodland  Garden,  the  house- 
keeper would  be  very  sure  to  hear  of  it ;  and  then, 
again,  as  Mrs.  Whittle  could  only  watch  the  Wood- 
-land  Garden,  why  had  not  Lord  Mane  told  her 
that  very  morning  what  it  was  he  had  to  say  to  her? 
Evidently  the  interview  was  of  great  importance, 
and  would  occupy  considerable  time. 

In  the  midst  of  these  doubts  she  raised  her  eyes, 
-and  looked  idly  across  the  gardens.  To  her  vast 
surprise,  in  the  center  of  one  of  the  lawns,  stood  the 
Countess  of  Mane  side  by  side  with  Sir  Michael 
Dulverton,  in  actual  conversation  with  her  hus- 
band !  It  was  the  first  time  Hannah  had  ever  seen 
them  together,  and  she  was  struck  by  the  occur- 
rence as  much  as  by  the  incongruity  of  the  noble 
couple.  If  he  had  been  alone,  the  little  earl,  with 
his  flat  billycock  hat,  his  mustard-colored  suit,  his 
shabby  brown  gaiters,  and  his  long-handled  spud, 
would  have  looked  ludicrously  out  of  place  on  those 
lordly  lawns  lying  in  superb  tranquillity  under  the 
gray  walls  of  the  Elizabethan  castle.  But  standing 
there,  confronting  the  magnificent  countess  and  the 


HANNAH'S   FORTUNES  85 

tall,  handsome  Sir  Michael,  he  cut  as  odd  and  com- 
ical an  appearance  as  any  clown  in  the  hurly-burly 
of  pantomime.  Hannah  was  inclined  to  laugh,  even 
though  her  idol,  Sir  Michael,  stood  side  by  side 
with  a  woman  too  beautiful  and  mighty  for  the 
most  presumptuous  girl  to  regard  as  a  "rival."  But 
while  she  was  smiling  at  the  earl's  expense,  the 
little  group  suddenly  broke  up.  The  earl  shuffled 
across  the  lawn  to  the  park,  dragging  his  spud 
behind,  while  the  countess,  with  Sir  Michael  at  her 
side,  made  straight  for — the  Woodland  Garden. 

Gathering  Lord  Kyn  closer  to  her  breast,  and 
leaning  back  on  the  rustic  seat  as  though  uncon- 
scious of  everything  around  her,  Hannah  began  a 
new  and  startlingly  original  fairy  tale.  When  the 
countess  came  before  her,  it  was  with  a  little  start 
that  Hannah  broke  off  in  the  midst  of  her  tale,  and 
rose  confusedly  to  her  feet. 

"You  have  found  favor  in  my  lord's  eyes,"  said 
the  countess,  laughing  prettily.  "He  declares  that 
our  little  Kyn  is  looking  a  thousand  times  better 
than  when  you  came." 

Hannah  blushed,  and  drooped  her  head.  She  did 
not  dare  to  look  at  Sir  Michael,  who  had  got  Kyn 
in  his  arms,  and  the  cold  blue  eyes  of  the  countess 
mocked  her  jealousy  into  mere  hopeless  despair. 

"Lord  Mane  wants  you  to  take  the  little  man  to 
the  farm  sometimes,  to  show  him  the  horses  in 

their  stalls,  the  pigs  in  their  sties,  and  the 

What  are  the  other  animals?"  she  asked,  with  a 
little  laugh.  "Sir  Michael  thinks  Lord  Mane  is 


36  THE   FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

wrong,  so  do  I ;  we  agree  that  Kyn  is  not  likely 
to  prefer  bantams  and  little  pigs  to  fairies,  and 
elves,  and  brownies,  and  dryads,  and  all  the  other 
beautiful  people  who  live  in  woods." 

"I  hate  pigs,"  said  Kyn,  from  Sir  Michael's  arms. 

"My  dear  little  boy,"  cried  the  countess,  in  mock 
severity,  "you  must  never  utter  such  dreadful  blas- 
phemy in  the  hearing  of  your  dear  father.  Oh,  it 
would  break  his  heart,  it  would  really !  Besides, 
piggies  give  you  nice  bacon — so  you  should  not 
speak  unkindly  of  them.  And  so,  Miss  Mersey, 
you  will  sometimes,  if  you  will  be  so  very  good, 
take  your  little  charge  down  to  the  home  farm,  and 
teach  him  to  prod  cows  in  the  ribs  without  being 
frightened,  and  to  look  over  pigsties  without  feeling 
very  ill." 

"Perhaps  it  may  give  him  a  new  and  more  robust 
interest  in  life,"  said  Hannah,  smiling  very  sweetly 
in  beautifully  acted  admiration  of  the  countess's 
playfulness. 

"Have  you  got  an  evening  frock?"  asked  Lady 
Mane  of  a  sudden. 

Hannah,  surprised  out  of  her  senses,  answered 
that  she  had. 

"You  must  come  and  sing  to  us  in  the  drawing- 
room  to-night — that  pretty,  tristful  song  about  the 
roses;  and  you,  Michael,  must  come  and  dine  with 
our  party,  and  listen  to  my  new  nightingale.  The 
Haddons  are  coming — papa  and  the  pretty  Beat- 
rice." 

"I  shall  be  delighted,  if  I  may  come  in  after 


HANNAH'S   FORTUNES  87 

dinner,"  said  Sir  Michael,  Kyn  on  his  shoulder 
stretching  little  thin  arms  to  the  branches  above. 

The  countess  turned  away,  Dulverton  set  Kyn 
down  on  the  ground,  and,  raising  his  hat  with  a 
grave  smile  to  Hannah,  followed  the  tall,  graceful 
figure  of  the  countess  out  of  the  Woodland  Gar- 
den. 

That  night  when  Hannah,  having  eaten  her  din- 
ner, was  waiting  with  beating  heart  for  a  summons 
to  the  drawing-room  (dreaming  such  wonderful 
dreams),  the  door  of  her  room  opened  noiselessly, 
and  the  earl  sidled  in,  with  a  finger  to  his  lip. 

"Why  in  the  doose  have  you  got  that  dress  on?" 
he  demanded,  lowering  his  squeaky  voice,  and  star- 
ing with  a  petulant  frown  at  Hannah,  who  was 
arrayed  in  a  black  gown  that  left  the  firm  neck 
free. 

"I  am  to  sing  in  the  drawing-room,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"Sing!  In  the  drawing-room!  What,  to  those 
damned  Jezebels,  those  underbred  prigs  and  card- 
sharpers,  those — those Fah  !  Why  didn't  you 

tell  her  ladyship  you  were  nervous,  eh  ?  Why  didn't 
you  say  you'd  be  damned  if  you'd  sing?  I  don't 
want  you  to  mix  with  the  Babylonish  mob  my  wife 
chooses  to  pour  into  my  rooms.  D'ye  under- 
stand ?" 

He  stood  blinking  at  her  in  the  lamplight,  rub- 
bing his  sharp  chin  with  the  long,  lean  forefinger 
of  his  right  hand,  and  looking  almost  masterful 
in  his  rage. 


88  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

"I  will  try  and  make  an  excuse  next  time,  my 
lord ;  but  I  am  anxious  to  please  her  ladyship " 

"And  anxious  to  hear  your  own  voice  in  sucK 
grand  comp'ny!"  he  cackled. 

"No;  indeed  not!"  Hannah  protested.  "But 
though  I  hate  shows  and  love  simplicity,  I  should 
like,  I  openly  confess  it,  to  look  just  once  on  such  a 
scene — perhaps  only  to  hate  it  even  more  than  I  do 
now." 

His  lordship  came  closer.  "I  came  here  to  do 
you  that  very  turn,"  he  squeaked ;  "ain't  that  funny, 
now?  And  I  was  goin'  to  show  you  the  animals 
feedin',  think  of  that,  now !  Her  ladyship  don't  ask 
you  to  sit  down  at  such  a  damned  aristocratic  ban- 
quet, does  she,  eh?  I  was  goin'  to  show  you  the 
noble  scene  from  the  minstrels'  gallery,  the  whole 
panorama ;  it'll  make  you  die  with  laughin'.  Come 
along  with  me,  and  walk  quietly.  Hush !"  He  laid 
his  finger  on  his  lip,  and  glided  noiselessly  out  of 
the  room. 

As  Hannah,  surprised  and  utterly  perplexed,  fol- 
lowed the  earl  down  the  long  corridor,  she  remem- 
bered that  this  was  an  hour  when  Mrs.  Whittle 
would  be  eating  dinner,  and  once  more  she  beat 
her  brain  for  a  solution  of  the  mystery  that  was 
gradually  involving  her  in  its  folds.  At  the  first 
turning  out  of  the  corridor  which  the  earl  took 
he  waited  for  her  to  come  up. 

"Remember,"  he  whispered,  "that  windows  have 
eyes,  and  walls  have  ears;  and  don't  forget  your 
way.  I  shan't  be  able  to  come  and  fetch  you  every 


HANNAH'S   FORTUNES  89 

night.  It's  dangerous.  But  there  are  secret  ways ; 
I'll  teach  you  some  day.  There  are  rooms  and  cor- 
ridors in  the  castle  nobody  knows  of  but  me ;  ain't 
that  funny,  now?"  Then  he  went  forward  again, 
and  Hannah  followed.  At  the  end  of  the  corridor 
he  opened  a  small  door  and  descended  a  narrow, 
winding  flight  of  stone  stairs.  At  the  bottom  of 
the  stairs  he  struck  a  match,  lighted  a  candle,  and 
waited  till  Hannah  stood  beside  him. 

"Shall  I  tell  you  somethin'  ?"  he  squeaked,  peer- 
ing up  into  her  eyes. 

"Yes,"  Hannah  answered  in  a  steady  voice ;  "tell 
me  the  mystery  of  Mrs.  Whittle." 

The  earl  ducked  his  head.  "What  do  you  mean 
by  that  ?"  he  demanded  angrily,  lowering  the  candle. 

"Why  is  she  always  watching  me?"  Hannah 
replied  steadily. 

Lord  Mane  cackled  huskily,  and  came  closer 
again.  "Don't  let  her  catch  you  talking  to  me  in 
secret,"  he  whispered;  "that's  the  mystery  of  Mrs. 
Whittle !  Very  simple ;  no  romance !" 

"And  is  that  what  you  were  going  to  tell  me?'* 
asked  Hannah. 

"No,"  he  murmured — "no,  it  wasn't.  I  was  goin' 
to  tell  you  that  I  hate  and  loathe  and  detest  every 
damned  guest  in  this  house ;  that  I'd  like  to  burn 
'em  every  one  of  'em!"  His  little  shining  red 
face  blazed  with  passion.  He  paused  for  a  moment, 
and  then  suddenly  demanded  :  "What  do  you  think 
of  me,  now?  What  sort  of  a  man  do  you  think  I 
am?" 


90  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

"I  don't  understand,"  pleaded  Hannah. 

The  earl  smiled.  "Do  you  like  me,  or  do  you 
hate  me?"  he  squeaked,  stroking  his  thick,  yellow 
thatch  of  hair. 

"I  like  you." 

"Why?" 

"Because  your  tastes  are  simple  and  clean,"  said 
Hannah,  looking  all  love  and  maidenlike  inno- 
cence. 

"By  ged,  you're  a  clippin'  fine  woman!"  cried 
the  earl.  "You're  the  sort  of  woman  I  like.  You're 
worth  every  damned  Jezebel  in  this  house.  I  knew 
you  were  that  sort  when  I  first  saw  you  drivin' 
with  old  Criddle  in  the  pony  cart.  Next  time  you 
drive  to  the  castle  you  shall  have  her  ladyship's 
best  carriage  and  pair,  damn  me  if  you  shan't !" 

Hannah  began  to  feel  alarmed  by  the  strange 
earnestness  of  her  lord  and  master. 

"You're  a  woman  with  a  woman's  heart,  and  no 
paint  on  your  cheeks,"  he  said  quietly,  holding  up 
the  candle  to  study  her.  "You  look  fresh,  you 
smell  fresh — you're  like  a  field  of  turnips ;  and  they ! 
— my  wife's  friends — they're  like  a  shop  full  of 
patchouli.  Fah!"  He  went  forward  again  down 
the  narrow,  dark  passage,  and  Hannah,  wondering 
much,  followed  behind. 

At  the  end  of  this  passage  Lord  Mane,  blowing 
out  his  candle,  opened  a  door,  and  instantly,  with 
a  sudden  flood  of  light,  the  sound  of  many  voices, 
the  jingle  of  plates  and  cutlery,  dispelled  the  op- 
pressive silence  of  the  gloomy  passage.  Lord  Mane 


HANNAH'S   FORTUNES  91 

passed  noiselessly  into  the  minstrels'  gallery,  and 
led  Hannah  to  a  spot  where  they  could  survey  the 
guests  below  unobserved  by  any  of  the  company. 

It  was  a  dazzling  scene  that  met  the  girl's  eyes. 
In  the  magnificent  paneled  hall,  with  its  colossal 
colored  windows  and  fretted  ceiling,  was  gathered 
the  entire  house  party — the  women  brave  with  all 
the  glittering  gorgeousness  of  flaunting  millinery, 
the  men  atoning  for  the  somber  color  of  their  rai- 
ment by  radiant  faces,  sparkling  eyes,  and  merry, 
ringing  voices.  The  long  table  shone  with  gold 
ornaments,  and  sparkled  with  silver.  Red  and  yel- 
low flowers  clashed  their  gay  colors  on  the  white 
cloth,  and  shone  brightly  under  the  countless  pink 
lights  that  blazed  from  the  noble  roof  of  the  hall. 
And  silently  round  the  long  table  passed  servants 
in  the  full  purple  and  gold  livery  of  the  historic 
family,  giving  the  last  touch  of  color  and  dignity  to 
the  splendid  spectacle. 

Hannah's  eyes  drank  in  all  this  scene  as  soon  as 
she  entered  the  gallery ;  but  now,  as  she  sat  breath- 
less and  looked  down  upon  the  merry  laughing 
company,  with  the  earl  behind  her,  she  had  eyes 
only  for  the  regal  woman  who  sat,  not  at  the  head 
of  the  table,  but  at  the  center  of  the  table — in  the 
very  midst  of  her  guests — with  Mr.  Oliver  Bolt  on 
one  side,  and  the  red-faced  rector,  with  smooth 
black  hair,  bright  blue  eyes,  and  large  humorous 
chin,  on  the  other.  The  countess  looked  to  Han- 
nah lovelier,  infinitely  lovelier  than  she  had  ever 
looked  before.  Her  pale  blue  dress,  the  gleaming' 


92  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

diamonds  in  her  red  hair,  the  glittering  jewels  on 
her  white  bosom,  accentuated  the  exquisite  fairness 
of  her  skin  and  gave  the  blue  eyes  a  new  and  ravish- 
ing beauty.  Carried  away  by  her  admiration  for 
this  exquisite  creature,  Hannah  half  turned  and 
whispered  to  the  earl :  "How  lovely  she  looks !" 

"Curse  her !"  he  answered,  snapping  his  jaws. 

"I  mean  the  countess!"  Hannah  cried. 

"Curse  her !  Curse  her !"  said  the  earl  between 
his  teeth.  And  Hannah,  turning  round,  saw  that 
the  veins  stood  out  on  his  forehead  like  burning 
wales. 

She  turned  again  to  the  scene,  wondering  much, 
but  taking  note  with  calmer  brain  of  all  that  she 
saw  below.  It  interested  her  to  see  the  rector's 
handsome  and  religious  daughter,  Beatrice  Had- 
don,  among  such  company ;  and  it  interested  her  to 
note  how  young  Lord  Escott,  the  handsome  boy 
who  was  dancing  to  Oliver's  pipe  the  dance  of 
death,  seemed  to  study  that  strong,  proud  face  with 
consuming  admiration.  But  her  eyes  soon  wan- 
dered from  Beatrice  and  young  Escott,  from  the 
fat  duchess,  from  Mrs.  Bobby  Robinson,  from 
the  beaming  rector,  and  the  lovely  countess  to  the 
favored  guest — Oliver  Bolt.  Everybody  appeared 
to  hang  on  his  words;  every  face,  including  the 
countess's,  was  turned  towards  him.  He  set  that 
noble  table  on  many  a  polite  roar  with  brief,  excel- 
lently-told anecdotes,  with  quip,  with  paradox,  with 
epigram,  with  sheer,  brilliant  foolery.  His  rich 
deep  voice  had  the  true  note  of  authority,  and  his 


HANNAH'S   FORTUNES  93 

words  were  clear  and  distinct.  He  looked  younger 
to  Hannah,  and  more  intellectual,  than  when  she 
had  encountered  him  on  his  way  to  Mrs.  Whittle's 
room.  She  stopped  in  her  meditation.  Why,  she 
suddenly  asked  herself,  was  this  famous  wit,  this 
lion  of  drawing-rooms,  going  to  the  matron's  room  ? 
Yes,  he,  too,  was  playing  a  part  in  the  mystery 
that  seemed  to  be  closing  in  upon  her  with  every 
fresh  beat  of  her  heart. 

But  her  thoughts  were  cut  suddenly  and  dramat- 
ically short.  While  she  leaned  forward,  her  dusky 
cheek  flushed  with  excitement,  her  dark  eyes  twink- 
ling with  light,  the  earl  bent  quickly  forward  and 
kissed  her  very  enthusiastically  on  the  neck. 

Hannah  turned  round  and  faced  him  angrily. 

He  put  his  finger  to  his  lips,  frowned,  and  then 
rising  quietly,  beckoned  her  to  follow  him  from 
the  gallery. 

In  the  darkened  passage,  after  he  had  calmly 
struck  a  match  and  relighted  the  candle,  he  turned 
round  and  looked  her  boldly  in  the  face.  "Why  did 
I  kiss  you  ?"  he  demanded,  knitting  his  forehead. 

"I  was  going  to  ask  you  that  question,  my  lord," 
said  Hannah  coldly. 

"Ask  it !"  he  said  impatiently. 

"Why  did  you  kiss  me  ?"  she  said,  her  large  dark 
«yes  filled  with  reproach. 

He  came  closer,  so  that  he  might  see  her  face 
more  clearly,  and  peering  up  into  it  with  his  pale 
green  eyes  afire,  he  answered  in  a  voice  so  earnest 
and  sincere  that  it  took  Hannah's  mind  by  storm : — 
"Because — I  love  you !" 


94  THE   FALL   OF  THE  CURTAIN 

Her  heart  began  to  beat  and  her  breath  came 
quickly.  "My  lord,  it  is  wrong  of  you  to  say  that !" 
she  cried  piteously. 

"Why?    Tell  me  why?" 

"Your  wife " 

"Wife!  Do  you  call  her  a  wife?"  He  locked 
his  jaws  and  knitted  his  brows.  "Has  she  kept  the 
oath  she  swore  at  the  altar?  Has  she  striven  to 
love  me?  to  honor  me?  to  obey  me?  Has  she 
tended  me  in  sickness?  Has  she  entered  into  my 
interests — sought  to  learn  my  pleasure,  my  wish, 
my  will  ?  Damme,  is  there  an  honest  man  on  earth 
who  could  say  that  she  is  my  wife — that  she  has 
any  demand  on  me?  I  tell  you  I  hate  her.  I  come 
here  night  after  night  to  hate  her  more.  I'd  thank 
God  if  He  delivered  me  from  her.  She  has  ruined 
my  life.  I  want  quiet — peace — a  home.  She  prom- 
ised me  all  that.  She  lied  in  her  white  throat;  she 
told  me  she  hated  the  world,  hated  London,  hated 
society;  and  six  months  after  marriage  she  was 
back  in  the  mire!  Wife!  Fah!  she's  a  child  of 
the  devil,  and  the  devil  may  take  her!" 

He  panted  in  his  wrath,  and  clenched  his  hands. 

"But  she  is  your  wife  before  the  world,"  said 
Hannah  gently. 

"For  the  present,"  he  answered  between  his  set 
teeth.  "But  I'm  waitin',  I'm  watchin'.  She  has  her 
spies,  and  she  has  chosen  'em  well,  but  I  can  play 
a  waitin'  game.  I  shall  bowl  her  out " 

"Bowl  her  out?"  cried  Hannah,  taking  a  step 
back. 


HANNAH'S   FORTUNES  95 

"Yes,  bowl  her  out,  my  pretty,  bowl  her  out.  I 
don't  mean  to  die  tied  to  a  damned  strumpet.  I 
want  a  home,  I  want  sympathy,  and  I'll  free  myself 
— yes,  pretty,  free  myself — for  your  sake." 

The  blood  went  from  Hannah's  cheeks,  she 
clasped  her  hands  before  her,  and  bent  her  face 
nearer  to  the  earl's.  "What  do  you  mean?"  she 
gasped;  "what  is  it  you  are  saying?  I  don't  under- 
stand." 

"You  shall  understand  before  the  world  is  much 
older  or  she  much  wickeder!"  he  murmured,  resum- 
ing something  of  his  old  cynical  calm.  "Since  I 
kissed  your  pretty  neck  I'm  more  than  ever  dis- 
posed to  cast  the  baggage  off,  damn  me  if  I  ain't ! 
Can  you  guess  why?  Wait  patiently,  you  pretty 
dark  bird.  Wait  patiently,  my  pretty  thrush. 
Damme!"  he  exclaimed  suddenly;  "you  shall  wear 
her  coronet  yet!" 

He  turned  abruptly  on  his  heel,  and  walked 
quickly  down  the  passage,  up  the  winding  stone 
stairs,  and  at  the  door  communicating  with  the 
corridor  he  paused,  and  turned  round,  facing  Han- 
nah with  triumph  in  his  flushed  face. 

"Now  go  and  sing  to  'em  in  the  drawing-room," 
he  said  with  a  chuckle.  "You've  no  need  to  be 
nervous  now,  eh?  You  can  find  your  own  way?" 

"Yes,"  said  Hannah,  with  bowed  head,  her  heart 
beating  furiously. 

He  laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm.  "Kiss  me,"  he 
said. 

And  Hannah  bent  her  sweet,  saint-like  face  and 
kissed  him. 


VIII 

IN   WHICH   HANNAH   PLAYS  A  GREAT  PART 

WHEN  Sir  Michael  Dulverton  entered  the 
drawing-room  of  Kyn  Castle  that  night, 
the  glittering  party  was  in  the  best  of  tempers,  sav- 
ing the  countess  and  Oliver  Bolt.  The  countess 
sat  in  a  kind  of  regal  state  on  a  high-backed,  spin- 
dle-legged settee,  her  shimmering  pale  blue  dress 
making  an  exquisite  contrast  with  the  white  bro- 
cade of  the  gold-framed  lounge.  At  the  other  end 
of  the  apartment,  brooding  with  something  of  a 
Byronic  melancholy,  Oliver  Bolt  sat  over  a  small 
table.  Every  now  and  then  the  animation  would 
go  from  the  countess's  face,  and  she  would  turn 
her  blue  eyes  sadly  to  the  poet,  as  though  anxious 
to  manifest  her  willingness  to  forgive  the  offense 
he  had  apparently  committed  against  her  dignity. 
But  to  all  these  pretty  overtures  the  poet  turned 
the  stoniest  of  eyes,  seeming  to  say  that  though 
guilty  of  the  offense  he  was  in  no  wise  repentant, 
and,  moreover,  resented  the  countess's  forgiveness 
as  much  as  her  original  indignation.  He  looked, 
this  handsome  dark  poet,  like  a  drawing-room 
Rustum,  and,  as  that  warrior  sulked  in  the  high 
pavilion  amid  the  tents  of  scarlet  cloth  beside  the 
low,  flat  strand  of  Oxus,  so  our  poet,  in  the  vaulted 
drawing-room  with  high  mullioned  windows,  fretted 
96 


HANNAH    PLAYS   A   GREAT   PART         97 

ceiling,  polished  amber-colored  floor,  amid  the 
thousand  glittering  glories  of  that  merry  company, 
sulked  in  his  corner,  and  forbore  to  join  the  war 
of  wits. 

Sir  Michael  Dulverton,  soon  after  entering  the 
room,  marked  this  state  of  affairs  with  heaviness  in 
his  heart.  He  had  a  hundred  times  rather  see  her 
side  by  side  with  the  poet,  exchanging  cheap  epi- 
grams and  making  play  with  all  the  pettiness  of 
decadent  pessimism.  To  see  them  quarreling,  these 
two,  argued  a  reconciliation,  and,  if  he  knew  the 
countess,  a  speedy  reconciliation,  in  which  dignity 
and  self-restraint  might  be  thrown  to  the  winds,  and 
disaster  overtake  her.  So  he  watched  them. 

Some  ten  minutes  after  his  arrival,  when  the 
footmen  had  carried  coffee-cups  away,  the  countess 
rose  from  her  seat  and  went  over  to  Oliver  Bolt, 
who  was  slowly  turning  the  pages  of  a  book  of 
engravings. 

She  stood  proudly  by  his  side,  but  inclined  her 
head  slightly,  and  with  eyes  overflowing  with  ten- 
derness, said  quietly :  "Will  you  be  very  kind  and 
sing  to  us,  Mr.  Bolt?" 

He  had  risen  just  as  she  reached  his  side.  "May 
I  beg  you  to  forgive  me — for  to-night  at  least? 
I  am  not  in  the  mood  for  singing,  really."  He  spoke 
in  a  low  voice,  as  one  whose  finest  feelings  had 
been  wounded. 

"Not  even  a  serious  song?"  said  the  countess 
playfully. 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  minute  with  quick  resent- 


9&  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

ment,  and  for  that  moment  his  face  was  dignified 
and  noble. 

"Forgive  me,"  she  said  under  her  breath,  and 
turned  away. 

She  stood  hesitating  in  the  center  of  the  room 
for  a  minute,  and  then  moved  to  a  noisy  group 
sitting  in  one  of  the  deep  window-seats. 

"Bobby,  come  and  amuse  us  with  a  comic  song," 
she  said. 

Bobby  vowed  that  she  couldn't  sing  to  save  her 
life. 

"Besides,"  said  Mrs.  Bobby,  in  her  loud  strident 
voice,  "the  meet  to-morrow  means  gettin'  up  at 
seven,  and  after  this  afternoon's  shindy  I  feel 
as  if  I  could  sleep  like  old  billy-oh.  It's  time  we 
put  on  our  nightcaps." 

"You're  quite  right,  Bobby,"  said  the  countess, 
glancing  over  to  the  disconsolate  poet's  position; 
"but  there  are  guests,"  she  added  in  a  whisper,  "and 
we  really  must  have  some  sort  of  entertainment. 
A  very  brief  one,  and  then  I  shall  pack  you  all 
upstairs." 

Sir  Michael  came  over  to  the  countess. 

"You  promised  that  I  should  hear  a  new  night- 
ingale," he  said. 

"Alackaday!"  cried  the  countess.  "Will  some 
charitable  person  ring  the  bell  immediately?  I've 
left  my  little  nightingale  all  alone  in  its  cage.  I  for- 
got its  very  existence.  Its  heart  will  be  quite 
broken !"  When  the  bell  was  answered  she  bade  the 
servant  ask  Miss  Mersey  if  she  would  come  to  the 


HANNAH    PLAYS    A   GREAT    PART          99 

drawing-room.  "My  little  nightingale  has  the  sweet- 
est of  voices,  and  she  sings  the  dearest  little  ballad 
in  the  world.  Mr.  Bolt  heard  her  the  other  day,  and 
thought  it  was  I !" 

"Who's  the  bird?"  asked  Mrs.  Bobby,  flinging 
one  leg  over  the  other. 

"My  governess,"  said  the  countess,  laughing; 
"such  an  odd  creature — all  black  eyes,  very  serious, 
very  demure,  very  droll." 

The  door  opened  and  Hannah  appeared. 

"Hang  me  if  she  looks  demure !"  said  Mrs.  Bobby 
to  Captain  Boot. 

"Gad !  her  eyes  do  shine,  don't  they  ?"  said  Boot. 
"Looks  as  if  she'd  been  kissed  by  a  good-looking 
footman." 

The  countess  presented  Hannah  to  the  very 
puffy,  red-faced  old  duchess  with  the  reputation  for 
hard  swearing,  and  then  led  her  to  the  piano. 

"The  little  ballad  about  the  roses,"  she  said ;  "it 
is  so  very  pretty."  Then  she  went  to  sit  where  she 
could  see  Oliver. 

Hannah  sat  down  at  the  piano,  and  played  the 
opening  bars.  Then  she  raised  her  eyes,  and  there 
before  her,  looking  at  her  with  sad  eyes,  stood 
Michael  Dulverton,  his  strong,  dignified  figure  in 
striking  contrast  to  the  other  men  in  the  room. 
Hannah  sang  beautifully  and  when  she  reached  the 
lines — 

I  shall  die  while  they  are  blowing, 
I  shall  die  without  her  knowing, 

she  said  to  herself,  "He  will  think  that  this  is 


100  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

'acting.'  Ah!  if  he  only  knew!"  And  then  she 
raised  her  eyes  again  to  his  face.  He  was  watching 
Lady  Mane. 

Hannah  was  begged  to  sing  again,  and  this  she 
did  to  the  apparent  delight  of  the  distinguished 
audience.  Beatrice  Haddon  played  Rachmaninoff's 
"Prelude" — every  crashing  chord  seeming  to  mock 
the  jaded,  useless  drones  in  the  room;  and  after 
that  young  Escott,  desiring  to  impress  the  proud 
and  scornful-looking  Beatrice  that  he  was  no  fool, 
sat  down  to  the  piano  and  sang  a  comic  song. 

While  this  was  going  on  Sir  Michael  approached 
Hannah,  and  talked  in  his  gentle,  kind  voice  of 
her  singing,  of  little  Kyn,  and,  in  a  rather  mournful 
vein  of  humor,  of  some  of  the  people  in  the  room. 
In  the  midst  of  his  conversation  the  countess  came 
towards  Oliver  Bolt,  who  was  sitting  close  beside 
them. 

"Won't  you  sing?"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"If  you  will  forgive  me,  I  had  a  thousand  times 
rather  not,"  he  said  in  his  solemn  tone.  "I  feel — 
well,  rather  like  a  bad  bruise !  I  think  I  will  take 
the  air.  The  stars  are  as  hard  as  your  diamonds 
to-night.  The  air  is  as  sweet  as " 

"A  poet's  temper!"  said  the  countess,  in  a  very 
low,  pleading  voice.  "Don't  be  cross  any  more; 
do  please  be  kind!"  Then  she  added  aloud,  "I 
think  Mr.  Bolt's  suggestion  is  a  good  one.  The 
stars  are  beautiful  to-night  and  the  air  is  quite 
mild.  He  suggests  that  we  should  go  out  of 
doors.  Shall  we  go  and  discover  new  planets?" 


HANNAH    PLAYS    A   GREAT    PART        IOI 

The  proposal  was  popular,  especially  as  it 
induced  the  rector  to  make  his  farewells.  Wraps 
were  fetched,  and  soon  the  moon-blanched  gardens 
were  spotted  with  human  beings,  laughing  and 
chatting  (Mrs.  Bobby  smoking  a  cigarette)  under 
the  glittering  stars.  Escott  walked  down  the  drive 
with  the  rector  and  Beatrice.  Hannah  went  with 
Sir  Michael,  and  she  was  surprised  at  the  pace  at 
which  he  walked  over  the  gardens  and  at  the 
somewhat  random  answers  he  returned  to  her  ques- 
tions. Of  a  sudden,  as  the  light  of  a  cigarette 
glowed  afar  off  at  the  end  of  the  darkened  bowling- 
green,  which  was  shut  in  between  two  thick  hedges, 
he  detached  himself  from  Hannah  with  a  hurried 
excuse  and  walked  in  that  direction.  Hannah,  sick 
at  heart,  yet  keenly  interested  in  this  mystery, 
watched  him  go,  and  saw  him  stopped  by  the  stout 
duchess  when  he  had  gone  but  twenty  paces  from 
her  side.  Then,  walking  quietly  in  among  the  trees, 
she  made  her  way  to  the  other  side  of  the  bowling- 
green  just  as  a  woman  in  a  pale  blue  dress  with  a 
white  boa  about  her  neck  entered  it  from  the  other 
end. 

Hannah  was  concealed  from  all  observation,  and 
she  walked  noiselessly  on  the  velvet  turf,  listening 
with  feverish  eagerness  for  the  sound  of  voices. 
Presently  she  was  rewarded.  She  stood  rooted  to 
the  spot.  For  half  an  hour  she  waited  there,  her 
heart  beating  tumultuously,  her  cheeks  blanched, 
her  eyes  staring  wildly  in  the  darkness.  Her  throat 
was  parched,  her  brain  on  fire.  She  had  heard 


102  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

words  that  roused  the  spirit  of  Ambition  from  its 
struggling  to  shake  off  sleep  to  broad  wakefulness. 
She  had  heard  that,  and  she  could  wait  no  longer. 
She  glided  swiftly  away,  and  made  her  way  to  the 
farther  side  of  the  green.  But  on  her  way  she 
paused.  A  gigantic  figure  was  shuffling  away 
through  the  trees.  Who  was  it?  Had  he  been 
spying  upon  them,  or  upon  her?  She  waited  till 
the  figure  had  passed  out  of  sight,  and  then  con- 
tinued her  walk.  When  she  came  out  on  the  other 
side  of  the  green  she  glanced  stealthily  up  the 
long  hedge,  and  stopped  suddenly,  her  heart  in  her 
throat,  her  hands  tight  clenched  at  her  side.  For 
there  stood  Michael  Dulverton,  listening  from  that 
side  as  she  had  listened  from  the  other,  to  the  little 
drama  that  was  being  acted  between  the  two 
hedges.  He,  too,  had  heard  the  words;  he,  too, 
knew  of  the  assignation. 

She  struck  out  into  the  gardens,  and  stood  in  the 
shadow  of  some  trees  watching  Dulverton.  He 
waited  only  a  minute  longer,  and  then  turned  back 
to  join  the  group  of  star-gazers.  Hannah  could  see 
that  his  face  was  strained,  could  hear  that  his  voice 
was  agitated  with  strongly-felt  emotion.  And  while 
she  watched  him  the  flutter  of  a  frock  at  the  end 
of  the  bowling-green  caught  her  eye.  Dulverton's 
back  at  that  moment  was  turned  to  the  bowling- 
green,  and  he  did  not  see  the  tall  figure  that  slipped 
quietly  back  to  the  castle,  the  white  wrap  streaming 
behind.  Presently  the  dark  figure  of  a  man  came 
from  the  bowling-green  and  passed  quietly  towards 


HANNAH    PLAYS    A   GREAT   PART         103 

the  group  on  the  lawns.  In  a  few  minutes,  after 
the  eternal  stars  had  inspired  a  hundred  common- 
place remarks,  there  was  a  general  move  to  the 
castle,  and  Hannah  came  from  her  hiding  and  set 
out  on  a  circuitous  route  to  join  the  party.  As 
she  went  she  encountered  Criddle.  He  passed  her, 
his  head  in  the  air,  and  made  no  sign  of  recogni- 
tion, and  she  went  on,  wondering  much,  and  reached 
the  castle.  In  the  hall  she  stood  quietly  among 
the  guests,  noticing  that  Dulverton  followed  the 
movements  of  Oliver  Bolt  with  cold  and  angry 
eyes.  While  Hannah  watched,  a  footman  came 
forward  and  announced  to  Dulverton  that  his  dog- 
cart was  at  the  door. 

"Where  is  her  ladyship?"  said  Dulverton.  The 
man  said  he  would  inquire. 

Several  minutes  passed ;  the  guests  moved  away 
in  twos  and  threes,  and  presently  Oliver  Bolt  re- 
tired. Dulverton,  standing  near  the  high,  gray 
window,  tugged  at  his  mustache  and  chafed  at  the 
footman's  delay. 

When  the  man  came  back  Hannah  had  drawn 
nearer  to  the  great  window,  and  was  innocently 
examining  the  wood-carving  on  the  panels  of  the 
•wall. 

"Her  ladyship's  maid,  sir,"  said  the  footman, 
"says  that  her  ladyship  is  not  feeling  very  well, 
and  has  retired." 

"Can  you  take  her  ladyship  a  note  ?"  asked  Dul- 
verton in  a  low  voice. 


104  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

The  man  said  he  would  try.  "Come  with  me," 
said  Dulverton,  and  he  led  the  way  out  of  the  hall. 

Hannah's  brain  was  in  a  whirl.  She  stood  by 
the  great  window,  wondering  what  would  be  the 
end  of  this  strange  drama.  It  seemed  that  the 
earl's  vengeance  was  near  at  hand,  and  with  that 
vengeance  the  beginning  of  her  own  splendid  for- 
tunes. But  how  was  the  drama  to  be  worked  out, 
how  was  she  to  play  her  part?  She  stood  there 
for  many  minutes,  turning  the  subject  over  and 
over  in  her  distracted  mind.  If  she  struck  the 
blow  it  would  be  a  coward's  blow,  but  both  were 
guilty,  both  deserved  punishment.  She  hated  Oliver 
Bolt,  she  disliked  and  feared  the  countess,  surely 
she  might  strike.  Surely  it  was  her  duty  to  the 
earl.  Why  should  he  suffer  at  those  guilty  hands 
year  after  year?  And  yet  what  would  he  think  of 
her  if  she — to  whom  he  made  that  staggering  vow 
— brought  the  intelligence  of  his  wife's  guilt? 

Glancing  round  in  the  midst  of  these  meditations, 
Hannah  found  that  she  was  in  the  hall  alone.  All 
the  guests  had  retired.  She  was  about  to  hurry  out, 
when  a  slight  hiss  at  the  far  end  brought  her  to  a 
standstill.  She  peered  into  the  gloom  of  the  dis- 
tance, and  saw  the  earl  standing  in  a  half-open  door, 
beckoning  to  her.  She  went  swiftly  to  the  end  of 
the  hall,  and  passed  through  the  doorway.  She 
found  herself  in  a  small,  shabbily  furnished  room, 
with  pipes  on  the  mantelpiece,  tobacco  jars  every- 
where, and  a  decanter  of  whisky,  with  a  glass  and 
water  by  its  side,  on  the  small  round  table  in  the 


HANNAH    PLAYS   A   GREAT   PART       105 

center  of  the  room.  This  untidy  room  was  lighted 
by  an  oil  lamp. 

"What  were  you  doin'  there?"  asked  the  earl, 
blinking  fiercely. 

"Don't  ask  me,  don't  ask  me !"  cried  Hannah,  in 
well  simulated  agony  of  mind. 

The  earl  started.  "In  the  devil's  name  what  d'ye 
mean?"  he  demanded. 

"My  lord!"  cried  Hannah,  wringing  her  hands, 
"I  fear  for  your  honor.  But  after  your  words  to- 
night   Oh,  my  God !" 

He  caught  her  wrist  in  a  grip  of  iron,  brought 
his  face  close  to  hers,  and  hissed  between  his  teeth : 
"Tell  me !" 

She  gazed  at  him  as  one  mesmerized. 

"I  would  tell  you,"  she  gasped,  "but  for  your 
words  this  evening.  It  is  impossible  now." 

The  grip  tightened.     "Tell  me!" 

She  swayed  and  raised  her  free  hand  as  if  to 
shield  her  eyes  from  his  gaze. 

"I  cannot,"  she  groaned.  "I  could  not  betray 
her." 

The  hand  that  gripped  her  wrist  trembled  like 
an  aspen  leaf.  "Tell  me,"  he  said  hoarsely. 

Hannah  started,  drew  her  hand  from  her  eyes,  a 
smile  flashed  across  her  face.  "Yes,  yes !"  she  cried, 
"it  may  not  be  too  late  even  now.  There  is  time, 
there  is  time !  Go,  my  lord,  go  quickly — go  to 
your  wife's  room.  Save  her !" 

He  dropped  her  wrist  and  went  from  the  room 
as  a  flame  driven  by  wind  from  a  candle. 


ib6  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

She  waited  there,  her  mind  in  a  ferment  of  doubt. 
She  could  not  think  clearly,  she  could  not  compre- 
hend what  was  to  happen.  The  blood  tingled  in 
her  brain  and  danced  in  her  eyes.  In  her  breast 
the  heart  beat  furiously,  driving  the  breath  through 
her  dry  lips  in  quick,  sharp  gasps.  She  was  bring- 
ing ruin  to  the  countess — that  alone  was  plain.  Lady 
Mane  and  Oliver  Bolt  would  be  ruined.  She 
walked  to  and  fro,  crouched  down  in  the  deep  chair 
by  the  fire,  held  her  hands  to  her  ears,  before  her 
eyes,  prayed  to  God,  and  praying,  dreamed  of  her 
future  as  mistress  of  Kyn  Castle. 

After  many  long-drawn  minutes,  as  she  crouched 
down  in  the  chair,  her  hands  pressed  before  her 
face,  she  felt  a  hand  on  her  shoulder.  She  looked 
up,  and  met  the  evil  eyes  of  the  earl.  He  held  a 
folded  paper  in  his  hands ;  the  sweat  stood  on  his 
forehead,  and  his  jaws  were  tight  locked. 

"Are  you  prayin'  ?"  he  demanded.  His  voice  was 
hoarse,  and  sounded  far  off. 

Hannah  nodded. 

"For  my  wife?" 

Hannah  nodded  again. 

"Then  your  prayer's  answered.  I've  bowled  her 
out!" 

Hannah  jumped  to  her  feet,  her  heart  beating 
with  joy.  "Forgive  her !"  she  cried,  "oh,  my  lord, 
forgive  her!" 

He  swore  an  oath.  "What!  when  I  found 

her !  What !  with  evidence  like  this !"  and  with 

another  oath  he  thrust  the  paper  into  her  hands. 


HANNAH    PLAYS    A    GREAT    PART        IO? 

Hannah  looked  at  it  with  dazed  eyes.  It  ran : — 
"For  God's  sake,  Helen,  let  me  see  you  to-night. 
My  mind  is  on  the  rack.  Unless  I  see  you  before 
I  leave  the  castle  I  shall  go  mad.  I  must  see  you. 
Send  'Yes'  by  your  maid,  and  I  will  find  my  way  to 
your  boudoir. — Michael." 

"And  he  was  there !"  cried  the  earl.  "Damn  'em, 
he  was  there!  And  when  she  saw  me  she  cried, 
'Michael,  you've  ruined  me!' — damn  her!  Yes," 
he  went  on,  "and  that  brute  Bolt  was  passin'  her 
room,  and  I  had  him  in  for  a  witness.  Think  of 
that,  now!" 

"Sir  Michael  Dulverton!"  Hannah  murmured, 

looking  at  the  note.  "But Are  you  sure?  Oh, 

there  is  some " 

The  girl's  agitated  utterance  was  interrupted  by 
a  knock  at  the  door.  The  earl  hurried  Hannah  to 
a  cupboard,  pushed  her  in,  half  closed  the  door,  and 
then  went  growling  and  muttering  to  answer  the 
knock. 

As  the  door  opened  Hannah  heard  Mrs.  Whit- 
tle's voice.  "I  can't  see  you  to-night,"  he  said; 
"you've  chosen  a  bad  hour.  I  can't  see  you — I 
won't  see  you!" 

"But  I  must  see  you,"  said  Mrs.  Whittle  in  a 
low  tone  of  threatening  command. 

"Go  to  the  devil!"  cried  the  earl,  and  banged 
the  door  in  her  face,  shooting  a  bolt  into  its  socket 
while  the  noise  of  the  slam  still  echoed  in  the  cham- 
ber. "Go  to  the  devil !"  he  said  again. 

"Come  quickly,"  he  whispered  to  Hannah,  and 


108  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

led  her  to  the  farther  end  of  the  little  room.  He 
touched  a  panel,  it  sprang  noiselessly  back,  and  dis- 
closed a  narrow  passage.  "Go  straight  on,"  he 
whispered,  "take  the  first  to  your  left,  and  then  go 
up  the  three  stone  stairs,  open  the  door,  and  you're 
in  the  main  hall.  If  you  meet  her,  say  you  took  the 
wrong  turn.  But  don't  meet  her  if  you  can  help  it." 
Hannah  did  not  meet  Mrs.  Whittle,  but  she  met 
Criddle.  A  footman  was  conducting  him  to  the 
earl's  room. 


IX 

BREAKING   UP 

ON  the  following  morning  at  the  "Cripple's 
Ease"  William  the  valet  paid  an  early  visit  to 
his  father.  Timothy  Budge,  having  watched  his 
wife  dust  and  sweep  the  bar,  and  having  himself  fed 
his  pet  owl  and  flung  the  chickens  a  handful  or  two 
of  Indian  corn,  felt  that  he  was  entitled  to  a  rest; 
and  so,  while  his  wife  cooked  the  breakfast,  the 
old  fellow  sat  in  the  sun  on  the  sloping  bench  out- 
side of  the  little  whitewashed  tavern  and  blinked  at 
the  birds  in  the  spreading  beech  tree.  It  was  here 
that  William  found  him.  The  old  man  in  his  shirt 
sleeves,  with  his  rumpled  hair,  his  waistcoat  open, 
his  thin  linen  shirt  innocent  of  collar,  cut  a  very  dif- 
ferent figure  from  his  smart  son,  with  billycock  hat 
hanging  rakishly  over  one  ear,  and  a  plum-colored 
silk  handkerchief  falling  negligently  from  the  top 
pocket  of  his  tightly  buttoned  dark  suit.  Old  Tim- 
othy looked  up,  touched  his  wrinkled  forehead  to 
the  boy  with  a  half-contemptuous  snort,  and  asked 
after  his  lordship's  health. 

"The  earl's  in  the  very  devil  of  a  temper,"  said 
William,  his  chin  resting  unhappily  on  the  sharp 
edge  of  an  extremely  tall  and  uncomfortably  stiff 
collar. 

"I  meaned  you,"  chuckled  the  father.    "I  allus 
109 


110  THE    FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

refers  to  you,  in  whatever  society  I  may  be,  as  his 
lordship ;  says  I,  'His  Lordship  my  son  William/ 
or,  'My  Lord  Bill  Budge'  says  so  or  doesn't  say 
so."  His  small,  brown,  laughing  eyes  fixed  them- 
selves for  a  minute  on  the  face  of  his  son,  and 
then  with  a  muffled  snort  that  sent  his  shoulders 
half-way  to  his  ears  the  old  fellow  turned  his  gaze 
once  more  to  the  birds  in  the  beech. 

William  produced  a  silver  cigarette  case  from 
his  pocket,  helped  himself  to  a  cigarette,  and  struck 
a  match. 

"Aren't  you  come  to  breakfast,  then  ?"  asked  old 
Timothy,  folding  his  fat  arms  over  his  chest. 

"I'll  take  a  snack  when  it's  ready,"  said  William ; 
"but  I  didn't  come  for  that.  I  came  to  tell  you 
a  bit  of  news." 

"Scandal?"  queried  Timothy. 
"Solemn  truth,"  answered  William. 
"Fire  ahead !"  Timothy  said,  his  eyes  twinkling 
as  he  watched  the  birds  in  the  trees. 

"The  party's  going  to  break  up,"  quoth  William, 
resting  a  brown  shoe  on  the  bench  where  his  father 
sat.  "The  party's  going  to  break  up,  and  the  fam- 
ily's going  to  break  up,  too." 

"Why  aren't  you  there,  then,  to  pick  up  the 
pieces?"  said  Timothy,  with  a  laugh. 

"Perhaps  I  may  be  one  of  the  pieces  myself," 
said  William.  "The  old  earl  seems  half  off  his  nut, 
he  do ;  hasn't  got  a  civil  or  a  sane  word  for  a  feller ; 
treated  me  this  morning  same  as  if  I  had  been  a 
footman." 


BREAKING  UP  III 

"The  unfeeling  willain !"  said  Timothy. 

"But  you  haven't  heard  the  news,"  persisted 
William. 

"What !"  cried  old  Budge, both  fat  hands  brought 
with  a  sudden  snap  to  his  knees.  "What,  Bill!  is 
there  wuss  to  follow  than  your  ruin?  Lord  ha* 
mercy,  if  it  be  so  you  must  keep  it  till  I  ha'  had  a 
mouthful  of  breakfast  and  a  swig  at  the  teapot." 

"Listen!"  said  William,  firmly,  from  the  top  of 
his  collar. 

"Be  easy,  Bill,  be  easy,"  said  the  father. 

"Her  ladyship's  took  the  bit  in  her  mouth,  and 
the  earl's  bowled  her  out!"  said  William,  with 
dramatic  earnestness. 

"Stop  a  minute,  stop  a  minute,"  cried  Timothy. 
"You're  mixing  up  horse-ridin'  with  cricket.  Now, 
let's  have  it  fair.  'Her  ladyship's  took  the  bit  in 
her  mouth ;'  does  that  mean,  my  lord  Bill,  that  the 
countess  has  been  an'  bolted?" 

"It  means  she's  done  what  she  didn't  ought  to 
ha'  done,"  said  William,  "and  it  means  that  the 
earl  caught  her " 

"More  cricket !"  chuckled  Timothy. 

"And,"  went  on  William,  "it  means  that  the  earl's 
goin'  to  divorce  her  slick  off." 

"Now  this  really  is  news,"  chuckled  Timothy, 
rubbing  one  side  of  his  old  bulbous  nose  with  a 
long  thick  finger.  "It's  what  I  call  a  real  bit  of 
Society  gossip,  without  payin'  a  penny  for  the 
paper.  And,  my  lord  Bill,  who  is  the  noble  gentle- 
man what's  done  the  earl  this  service?" 


112  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

"Guess !"  said  Bill. 

Old  Timothy  looked  at  his  son  with  a  moment's 
contempt.  "Now,  do  I  know  the  names  of  all  them 
darned  coxcombs  up  at  the  castle?  Now,  do  I?" 
He  sniffed  contemptuously. 

"You  know  the  gentleman,"  said  William. 

"What,  is  it  that  ladida  actor-lookin'  fellow  with 
a  glass  in  his  eye  and  scent  on  his  hankey?  That 
Mr. — what's  his  name — Bolt,  what  comes  and  talks 
so  condescending  to  me !  Lord  bless  my  soul !  but 
if  it's  him,  it's  a  disgrace  to  the  family!" 

"It  isn't  him,"  said  the  son,  blowing  a  cloud  of 
smoke  into  his  father's  face. 

The  old  man  waved  it  away  with  one  of  his  fat 
hands.  "Then  who  is  it  ?  Let's  have  it  out  and  no 
darn  mystery." 

"It's  Sir  Michael  Dulverton !"  cried  William. 

Old  Timothy  flung  himself  back  against  the 
white  wall  of  the  inn.  He  fixed  his  eyes  on  William, 
and  held  his  hands  over  his  knees  with  every  finger 
stretched  wide  open.  "Bill,"  he  said  slowly,  "you're 
a  liar." 

William  withdrew  his  brown  shoe  from  the  bench, 
and  laughed.  "All  right,"  he  said;  "you  know  more 
about  castle  affairs  than  I  do."  He  walked  in  at 
the  open  door  of  the  inn,  and  old  Timothy  after  a 
minute  waddled  in  after  him.  Mrs.  Budge,  who 
was  just  setting  a  dish  of  eggs  and  bacon  on  the 
table  (she  had  been  cook  at  the  castle  in  the  old 
earl's  time)  looked  up  with  pride  as  her  son  entered, 
she  was  a  woman  with  two  enormous  cheeks, 


BREAKING  UP  113 

cheeks  that  began  to  swell  from  the  eyes  and  went 
on  swelling  till  they  reached  the  shoulders — where 
they  rested  from  their  labors.  Her  eyes  were  brisk 
black,  of  a  quick,  restless  kind,  and  she  wore  her 
oily  black  hair  piled  high  up  at  the  back  of  the 
head  in  the  fashion  of  her  maiden  days.  Wiping 
her  hands  on  her  blue  apron,  and  presenting  one 
of  her  fat  cheeks  to  William,  she  invited  him  to 
take  a  seat  at  the  table.  Then  William  told  his 
tale. 

"First  thing  this  mornin',"  he  said,  "there  was 
talk  in  the  servants'  hall,  and  her  ladyship's  maid 
said  that  last  night  she  had  taken  a  note  from  Sir 
Michael  to  her  ladyship,  that  her  ladyship  had  sent 
back  the  answer,  'Yes/  and  then  putting  on  a  dress- 
ing-gown, had  gone  into  her  boudoir  that  leads 
from  the  bedroom,  and  told  the  maid  she  might  go 
to  bed.  Then  down  comes  old  mother  Whittle, 
looking  blacker  than  ever,  and  tells  me  to  go 
instantly  to  the  earl.  So  up  I  goes.  Tack  my  bag/ 
he  says.  'What  with?'  says  I.  'Dam'  fool/  he 
says,  'with  clothes.  I'm  goin'  to  London  by  the 
first  train.'  'Am  I  to  accompany  your  lordship?' 
I  asks.  'No,  and  be  damned  to  you/  he  answers. 
And  then  while  I  packed  his  bag,  the  old  bloater 
kept  on  chuckling  and  saying  to  himself,  'I've 
bowled  her  out;  I've  bowled  her  out/  just  like 
that.  Presently  in  comes  her  ladyship's  maid  with 
a  note  from  her  ladyship.  The  earl  reads  it,  tears 
it  into  bits,  and  says  to  the  girl,  'The  answer's  No, 
and  be  damned  to  her.'  Then  he  goes  down  the 


114  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

stairs,  with  me  behind,  gets  into  the  carriage,  and 
drives  off.  When  I  got  into  our  hall  again,  I  found 
all  the  servants  of  the  guests  had  gone,  and  the 
cook  told  me  they  was  upstairs  packing  their  peo- 
ple's boxes,  that  there  was  to  be  no  meet  that  day, 
and  that  the  party  had  broke  up." 

"And  do  you  think,"  said  old  Timothy  slowly, 
his  cup  in  his  hand,  "that  Sir  Michael,  what's  been 
like  a  brother  to  her  ladyship  ever  since  they  were 
children,  when  her  ladyship's  old  father,  the  Hon- 
orable John  Bladen,  was  parson  up  at  t'  rectory, 
playin'  together  boy  an'  girl,  an'  he  the  godfather 
of  the  little  lord,  and  so  fond  of  him  as  any  fool  can 
see, — do  you  think  as  he's  a  blackguard?"  He 
drank  a  gulp  of  tea,  and  looked  at  his  wife. 

"The  gentry  are  different  to  us,"  said  Mrs.  Budge 
sententiously.  "They  don't  look  at  things  same 
as  we  do." 

"No,"  quoth  old  Timothy,  "that's  true  enough — 
of  the  new  gentry,  of  the  people  up  at  the  castle ; 
but  it  aren't  true  of  the  old  nobility,  and  Sir  Mi- 
chael's one  of  them.  If  there's  a  honest,  God-fearing, 
kind-hearted  gentleman  on  this  earth,  it's  Sir 
Michael  Dulverton — and  I  knew  his  father  before 
him !" 

He  drew  the  sleeve  of  his  shirt  across  his  mouth, 
and  looked  defiantly  at  William,  as  if  to  say :  "And 
that  settles  it." 

"Well,"  said  that  young  gentleman,  "accordin' 
to  information  from  headquarters,  which  of  course 
may  not  know  so  much  of  the  affair  as  folks  at  the 


BREAKING  UP  H5 

'Cripple's  Ease,'  Sir  Michael  don't  deny  the  affair." 

"Who  says  that?"  demanded  Timothy,  blinking. 

"There's  a  lady's  maid  at  the  castle  that's  a  bit 
stuck  on  me,"  said  William,  smiling  indulgently, 
"an'  she  told  me  that  she  was  passing  down  the 
corridor  by  Mrs.  Whittle's  room  last  night,  and 
heard  some  one  in  there  telling  the  tale.  She  heard 
him  say,  'The  earl  asked  him  what  he  was  doing 
in  his  wife's  room,  an'  he  wouldn't  say,  he  said  he 
couldn't  say !'  an'  with  that  he  says  the  old  bloater 
laughs  like  a  fiend  out  of  hell." 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on  over  the 
breakfast  table  at  the  "Cripple's  Ease,"  Hannah  was 
walking  with  little  Kyn  in  the  gardens  at  the  castle. 
She  had  scarce  closed  her  eyes  that  night,  and  she 
was  now  walking  slowly  to  and  fro  in  the  crisp, 
morning  air,  trusting  to  the  exercise  for  recupera- 
tion of  her  strength  in  order  that  she  might  play 
her  part  with  success  in  the  scenes  that  must  ensue 
on  last  night's  opening  of  the  drama. 

But  her  mind  was  racked  by  hideous  thoughts. 
In  striving  to  gain  her  ends  she  had  involved  the 
man  she  loved  in  the  ruin  of  the  countess.  She 
guessed  that  he  was  innocent,  and  she  knew  that 
Oliver  Bolt,  who  was  in  truth  the  guilty  man,  must 
go  free.  Nothing  that  she  could  do,  nothing  that 
she  felt  she  could  do,  would  succeed  in  making 
these  two  men  change  places.  And  as  she  thought 
this  situation  over,  the  child  of  the  woman  she  had 
ruined  babbled  at  her  side  of  fairies  and  goblins. 

But  Hannah's  thoughts  were  not  all  gloomy. 


Il6  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

Last  night  she  had  seen  the  countess  blazing  in 
all  the  glory  of  her  state,  had  tasted  for  a  brief  mo- 
ment the  cup  of  splendor.  Her  conscience  was 
half  lulled  to  rest  under  that  narcotic.  She  looked 
up  at  the  glorious  gray  pile  with  the  fluttering 
Red  Cross  of  St.  George  on  its  highest  turret, 
looked  over  the  smooth  velvet  lawns,  over  pleas- 
ance  after  pleasance,  over  far-stretching  park 
dotted  with  giant  trees,  under  which  deer  moved 
in  little  clusters — and  looking  on  all  this  she  drew 
comfort  to  her  soul.  "Yours,  yours!"  cried  the 
voice  of  young  Ambition,  wide  awake  now,  and 
lusting  for  life.  "Never  mind  how  gained,  never 
mind  who  tumbles  that  you  may  climb ;  it  is  yours, 
all  yours.  The  diamonds  that  glittered  in  that  red 
hair  last  night  will  glitter  with  a  deeper  light  in 
your  own  brown  tresses ;  the  banquet  scene  at 
which  you  gazed  with  jealous  eyes  from  the  min- 
strels' gallery,  will  be  enacted  again  and  again  with 
you  at  the  table's  head ;  all  is  yours — the  castle  with 
its  splendid  rooms,  its  pictures,  its  china,  its  plate, 
its  wood-carving,  its  thousand  treasures  of  art,  its 
•endless  corridors,  its  retinue  of  servants,  its  pomp, 
its  state,  its  glory — all  yours,  all  yours!" 

She  caught  her  breath. 

"Why  pine,  why  regret?  This  remorse  is  but 
affected,"  cried  Ambition,  rallying  her  with  brave 
words ;  "you  feel  as  if  you  ought  to  be  sorry,  and 
so  you  attempt  to  make  yourself  suffer  all  the  idle 
throes  of  remorse.  You  are  not,  in  truth,  sorry. 
You  know  you  are  not  sorry.  Be  wise,  be  strong ! 


BREAKING  UP  1 17 

Life  is  a  battle  for  success,  and  you  have  struck 
boldly,  and  won.  Why  repine?  You  know  you 
want  this  castle,  the  coronet  of  the  countess,  her 
place  at  the  table.  You  have  got  them,  you  are 
not  sorry  to  have  got  them.  Then,  away  with 
regret  that  she  and  a  man  who  cares  not  for  you  a 
snap  of  the  fingers,  have  gone  under  that  you  might 
rise." 

So  Ambition  blustered  in  the  mind  of  Hannah, 
and  gradually  regret  went  from  her  soul.  She 
walked  with  Kyn,  chatting  merrily,  laughing  gaily 
at  his  odd  questions,  lifting  him  now  and  then 
from  the  ground  to  be  hugged  with  pretty  caresses 
against  her  breast ;  and  so  well  did  she  play  this  part 
that  many  a  guest  looking  from  the  castle  windows 
over  the  gardens  remarked  how  pretty  a  picture 
child  and  young  governess  made.  But  Hannah 
could  always  act  well — before  an  audience. 

She  was,  in  spite  of  her  present  calm,  burning 
to  know  the  result  of  last  night's  bold  stroke ;  and 
so  she  kept  close  to  the  castle.  She  had  not  heard 
that  Lord  Mane  rose  early  and  went  to  London; 
or  that  the  guests  were  packing  boxes,  and  whis- 
pering among  themselves.  She  had  nothing  to 
guide  her.  Under  the  immemorial  trees  she  wan- 
dered with  her  little  charge ;  now  resting  with  him 
on  a  stone  seat,  now  chasing  him  over  the  smooth 
lawns,  now  lifting  him  in  her  strong  arms  to  look 
for  fairies  among  the  branches  of  the  trees. 

Thus  was  Hannah  engaged,  striving  to  quiet  the 
fever  in  her  brain,  when  looking  up  towards  the 


Il8  THE   FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

castle  she  saw  the  countess  approaching.  Her 
heart  stood  still.  Lady  Mane  was  dressed  in  a 
clinging  dove-colored  dress,  she  wore  furs  about 
her  neck,  and  from  the  broad  brim  of  her  black 
hat  piled  with  dark  feathers  a  veil  was  drawn  across 
her  face.  Hannah  could  not  guess  what  this  visit 
portended;  she  could  only  see  that  the  countess 
was  dressed  for  a  journey.  Summoning  all  her 
fortitude,  the  girl  took  Kyn  by  the  hand  and  went 
forward  to  meet  her. 

Lady  Mane  smiled  to  Kyn  as  she  drew  near,  and, 
fortunately  for  Hannah,  did  not  turn  those  innocent 
blue  eyes  in  her  direction.  The  boy  clung  to  Han- 
nah. 

"He  is  very  fond  of  you,  Miss  Mersey,"  said  the 
countess,  in  a  tone  just  a  note  lower  and  sadder 
than  was  habitual  to  her  voice. 

"I  am  fond  of  him  too,"  Hannah  replied,  with 
a  pretty  smile. 

"Ah!  'Love  goes  to  love,  as  schoolboys  from 
their  books.'  You  have  deserved  his  love  perhaps 
more  than  I  have."  She  laughed  a  little  non- 
chalantly, and  stooped  down  to  the  boy.  "Kyn,  old 
man,"  she  said  gently,  "I'm  going  away ;  I've  come 
to  say  good-by." 

The  boy  held  out  his  hand.  "Good-by,  mamma," 
he  said. 

"Won't  you  kiss  me?"  she  said. 

He  lifted  up  his  face,  his  left  hand  still  clinging 
to  Hannah. 

The  countess  laughed,  and  kissed  him.     "Sup- 


BREAKING  UP  119 

posing,  Kyn,"  she  said,  "if  mother  never,  never 
comes  back  any  more !" 

"Are  the  fairies  going  to  take  you  away?"  he 
asked  with  quick  interest. 

"No,  little  man,  but  the  goblin  has  driven  me 
out !" 

"Which  goblin,  mamma?  The  one  by  the  sun- 
dial?" 

She  patted  his  cheek  with  her  gloved  hand.  "No, 
poor  little  fellow,  not  that  one.  My  goblin  has  got 
red  whiskers." 

"Like  papa?"  cried  the  child. 

"Yes,  very  like  papa." 

Hannah  laughed.  "You  are  perplexing  him,  my 
lady,"  she  said,  with  gentle  reproach,  her  heart 
beating  and  her  mind  on  the  rack  of  suspense. 

The  countess  stooped  down  again.  "Good-by, 
old  man,"  she  said,  with  a  smile;  "be  good,  run 
about  and  grow  strong,  and  here's  a  little  present 
for  you  to  keep  till  you  see  your  mother  again." 

She  drew  a  mother-of-pearl  case  from  her  muff 
and  placed  it  in  the  boy's  hands.  He  began  to 
fumble  at  the  catch. 

"Good-by,"  she  said. 

"Good-by,  mamma,"  said  Kyn,  still  fumbling 
with  the  case. 

The  countess  laughed,  and  gave  her  hand  to 
Hannah.  "Good-by,  Miss  Mersey,"  she  said. 
"Mrs.  Whittle,  I  believe,  knows  all  the  arrange- 
ments to  be  made  in  my  absence.  I  hope  you  will 
be  very  comfortable,  and  that  Kyn  will  always  obey 


120  THE   FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

you  properly.  Good-by."  And  with  a  little  nod 
the  beautiful  creature  made  her  way  to  the  carriage 
that  waited  for  her  in  the  drive. 

Soon  after  the  countess's  departure  Hannah  was 
requested  by  a  servant  to  go  to  Mrs.  Whittle's 
room.  If  Ambition  had  not  been  awake  before, 
this  reveille  would  have  roused  it  to  broad  and  alert 
wakefulness.  To  be  summoned  to  her  room!  To 
wait  upon  her!  Ah !  the  longing  for  that  time  when 
this  black-browed  woman  should  cringe  before  her, 
and  wait  humbly  on  her  words. 

But  when  Hannah  entered  Mrs.  Whittle's  room 
a  meeker  and  a  demurer  looking  maid  never  ap- 
proached omnipotence. 

"You  wanted  me,  Mrs.  Whittle?"  she  asked. 

Mrs.  Whittle  bade  her  sit  down. 

"His  lordship,"  said  Mrs.  Whittle,  fixing  Han- 
nah with  basilisk  eyes,  "has  gone  to  London,  and 
the  house  party  has  dispersed.  His  lordship  does 
not  wish  you  to  remain  here." 

Hannah's  heart  sank,  but  she  preserved  her  look 
of  innocence.  "Yes?"  she  inquired. 

Mrs.  Whittle  paused,  as  if  the  effect  of  her  last 
words  must  produce  some  other  answer,  some 
other  expression  of  face,  from  the  calm  girl.  After 
a  moment,  as  if  the  words  were  wrung  from  her, 
the  woman  added :  "At  the  same  time  his  lordship 
is  anxious  that  my  Lord  Kyn  should  not  be  sep- 
arated from  you — at  least  for  the  present." 

"No?"  said  Hannah  sweetly. 

"And  he  thought  you  might  arrange,  his  lord- 


BREAKING  UP  121 

ship  defraying  all  expenses,  to  take  Lord  Kyn  to 
Mr.  Brough's  house,  your  last  situation.  His  lord- 
ship caused  a  telegram  to  be  sent  early  this  morn- 
ing to  Mr.  Brough,  and  the  answer  has  just  arrived 
saying  that  the  family  will  be  pleased  to  see  you. 
Your  train  leaves  at  two  to-day;  the  carriage  will 
be  at  the  door  at  a  quarter-past  one.  You  will  find 
the  money  for  your  journey  in  this  envelope.  That 
is  all.  Good  morning." 

Hannah  went  from  her  room,  her  heart  rejoic- 
ing, her  mind  smarting  under  the  matron's  rude- 
ness. A  few  paces  down  the  corridor,  and  she  came 
upon  Oliver  Bolt. 

He  looked  at  her  with  scowling  brows,  and 
stopped  her  by  standing  before  her  in  the  center 
of  the  corridor.  Hannah  looked  at  him  with  indig- 
nant surprise.  "Will  you  allow  me  to  pass?"  she 
demanded. 

He  laughed  scornfully,  and  said,  as  he  passed  on : 
"We  shall  probably  meet  again." 


X 

AN  OPEN   ENEMY 

WHEN  Hannah  reached  the  garden  she 
found  little  Kyn  peering  anxiously  among 
the  flower-beds,  while  the  mother-of-pearl  case  with 
which  the  countess  had  presented  him  lay  neglected 
on  an  ancient  highbacked  stone  seat.  Hannah  re- 
proached the  child  gently  for  so  treating  his  moth- 
er's present.  The  boy  put  his  finger  to  his  lips,  and 
walked  on  tiptoe  from  the  flower-beds  to  where 
Hannah  stood. 

"Please  don't  make  a  noise,"  he  said  in  a  whis- 
per, his  eyes  wide  with  mystery ;  "there's  a  fairy 
here,  I'm  quite  sure ;  the  dew  is  still  on  the  leaves 
where  she  was  dancing  when  the  moon  was  shin- 
ing." Then  he  stole  back,  and  Hannah,  turning 
away,  picked  up  the  pretty  case  and  opened  it. 

Inside  the  case  was  an  exquisitely  delicate  min- 
iature of  the  countess.  The  white  skin,  with  its 
suggestion  of  warm  blood  in  the  cheeks,  looked  so 
human,  so  lovable,  that  Hannah  felt  almost  tempted 
to  kiss  the  fair  flesh.  The  pale  blue  eyes,  with  the 
wearied  expression  which  Lady  Mane  always  as- 
sumed when  she  sat  for  a  portrait,  and  which  some- 
times came  there  of  its  own  accord,  gazed  reproach- 
fully at  Hannah  under  their  fringe  of  dark  lashes, 

seeming  too  tired  to  accuse,  too  indifferent,  too 

122 


AN    OPEN    ENEMY 

proud.  Hannah  closed  the  case  with  a  snap,  and 
raising  her  eyes  suddenly  to  the  castle  found  that 
Oliver  Bolt  and  the  housekeeper  were  studying 
her  from  one  of  the  windows.  With  admirable 
decision  she  kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon  them,  allow- 
ing them  to  see  that  she  was  fully  cognizant  of  their 
proceeding.  And  they,  on  their  part,  the  black- 
browed,  solemn  woman  and  the  well-dressed,  sen- 
sual-looking man,  maintained  their  position,  staring 
down,  openly  and  without  the  smallest  attempt  at 
concealment,  upon  the  girl  in  the  garden.  "They 
are  trying  to  frighten  me,"  thought  Hannah,  as 
she  looked  at  them ;  and  then,  without  removing 
her  eyes  from  them,  she  called  Kyn  to  her  side. 

''Look,  Kyn,"  she  said,  one  hand  on  his  shoulder 
the  other  pointing  to  the  window.  "Look  at  those 
people  staring  at  us !" 

With  anger  so  dark  and  furious  that  she  could 
see  it  even  at  that  distance,  Oliver  Bolt  turned 
hastily  away  from  the  window ;  and,  after  scrutiniz- 
ing her  for  some  part  of  a  minute  in  silent  intent- 
ness,  Mrs.  Whittle  followed  her  companion's  ex- 
ample. Then  Hannah  turned  away  with  a  laugh, 
and  accompanied  Kyn  in  his  searching  after 
gnomes  and  fairies. 

But  what  did  all  this  mean  ?  Hannah's  heart  was 
far  from  easy.  There  was  war,  and  open  war,  be- 
tween her  and  these  two  strangely  associated  peo- 
ple. Bolt's  insulting  and  inexplicable  threat  was 
fresh  in  her  mind;  he  had  warned  her  that  they 
were  to  meet  again,  and  with  so  much  hatred  in  his 


124  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

eyes,  so  much  passion  in  his  voice,  that  she  could 
not  doubt  of  the  deadly  character  of  his  enmity. 
Then  it  struck  her  suddenly  that  all  the  guests  had 
gone  away,  that  these  two  were  alone  in  the  upper 
part  of  the  castle.  Her  heart  beat  with  sickening 
apprehension.  Dare  they,  dare  they,  she  wondered, 
attempt  foul  play?  Was  their  enmity  of  so  malig- 
nant a  nature  that  they  would  not  stop  even  at 
murder?  It  appeared  to  her  (for  her  conscience 
was  not  easy)  that  these  people  knew  of  her  action 
on  the  preceding  night,  and  that  the  consequence 
of  that  action  had  ruined  some  mysterious  plot  of 
their  own.  What  would  they  say  to  her,  what  would 
they  do  to  her?  Brave  as  she  was  by  nature,  and  by 
long  cultivation  of  her  will  wont  to  face  cheerfully 
all  obstacles  in  her  way,  the  girl  sickened  at  the 
thought  that  she  must  enter  the  castle,  climb  to 
the  stairs  above,  and  walk  through  those  long, 
silent  corridors  alone.  Kyn  must  go  to  his  room, 
to  be  dressed  by  the  maid  who  looked  after  him, 
and  she  must  go  alone  to  her  own  room,  which  lay 
far  from  the  boy's  and  very  near  to  Mrs.  Whittle's. 
She  might  keep  him  with  her  and  go  with  him 
while  he  went  to  be  dressed,  but  what  protection 
could  that  frail  child  afford?  Might  not  he  too 
come  into  the  scheme  of  their  ruthless  plotting? 

Walking  to  and  fro  on  the  lawn,  revolving  these 
thoughts  in  her  distracted  mind,  she  came  suddenly 
upon  the  gigantic  Mr.  Criddle,  who  was  advancing 
towards  her,  his  bent  knees  thrust  forward,  his  little 


AN   OPEN   ENEMY  125 

black  eyes   smiling  very  hard  and  looking  high 
above  her  head. 

"A  letter  for  you,"  he  said  in  his  low,  fatherly 
voice ;  "a  letter  from  Sir  Michael  Dulverton,  to  be 
given  into  your  own  hands — by  me!  He  gave  it 
me  himself." 

Hannah  took  the  note,  but  did  not  open  it. 

"Strange  goings  on  at  the  castle,"  said  Criddle, 
smiling  all  over  his  fat,  broad  face. 

"Indeed?"  said  Hannah. 

"The  ungodly  are  dispersed,"  said  Mr.  Criddle, 
with  great  satisfaction,  his  little  eyes  full  of  watery 
light ;  "and  his  lordship's  put  on  a  silk  hat  and  gone 
to  London.  Wonders  will  never  cease  and  trou- 
bles never  come  single.  Her  ladyship's  gone,  too — 
for  good ;  yet  not  for  good,  for  where  she  goes  she 
will  certainly  carry  destruction  to  men's  souls.  And 
she  but  a  doll  to  look  at,  too,  and  sawdust  in- 
wardly." 

Hannah  listened  to  him,  expressing  innocent 
wonderment  at  his  news,  and  then  inquired  if  he 
could  tell  her  anything  about  Mrs.  Whittle.  "I 
am  interested  in  her,"  she  said.  "The  good  woman 
perplexes  and  interests  me." 

At  this  question  Criddle  seemed  to  grow  serious ; 
for  the  first  time  in  Hannah's  experience  his  mouth 
ceased  to  smile  and  suck  in  chuckles,  while  the 
dancing  merriment  went  suddenly  from  his  eyes. 
"Well,"  he  said  slowly,  as  one  weighing  well  his 
words,  "she's  ungodly  too.  She's  never  been  in 
church  since  I  can  remember ;  and  yet  I  have  been 


126  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

told  that  when  she  was  the  late  countess's  waiting- 
maid  she  was  regular  in  church-going  and  fond  of 
a  theological  argument  at  afternoon  tea.  But  she's 
ungodly.  Keep  clear  of  her.  Do  not  frequent  her 
society.  Shun  her.  She  is  a  backslider.  Yes,  you 
would  be  wise  to  shun  her." 

"But  why?"  Hannah  protested. 

"She's  ungodly,"  Griddle  answered,  as  if  that 
should  be  sufficient,  and  moved  away,  looking 
straight  ahead  of  him,  his  little  mouth  once  more 
pursed  into  smiles  and  the  old  dull  laughter  in  his 
little  twinkling  eyes. 

Time  was  passing,  and  Hannah  determined  to- 
run  the  risk  of  meeting  opposition  from  the  enemy. 
She  took  Kyn's  hand  and  went  towards  the  castle. 
She  entered  by  the  front  door,  and  walked  through 
the  deserted  hall  to  the  broad  staircase  that  led  to 
the  floor  above.  No  servants*  were  to  be  seen,  no 
sounds  were  to  be  heard.  A  perfect  stillness,  with- 
out tick  of  clock,  held  the  great  mansion.  Hannah 
took  Kyn  in  her  arms  and  walked  noiselessly  up 
the  stairs,  using  her  eyes  well  at  every  step  she 
took.  On  the  first  floor  she  walked  swiftly  and 
silently  to  the  corridor  on  which  her  bedroom 
opened.  But  as  she  reached  the  turning  she  started 
back,  and  with  her  lips  motioned  Kyn  to  remain 
silent.  From  Hannah's  bedroom  came  Mrs.  Whit- 
tle, and  disappeared  quickly  in  the  direction  of  her 
own  room.  Hannah  stood  at  the  corner,  glancing 
down  the  corridor  for  some  minutes  after  Mrs. 
Whittle  had  disappeared.  Then  she  went  forward ; 


AN   OPEN   ENEMY  127 

but  ere  she  turned  the  corner  she  glanced  back 
ovei  her  shoulder  to  see  if  she  were  observed, 
and  there,  only  a  few  paces  behind  her,  in  the  center 
of  the  corridor,  watching  her  with  malicious  eyes, 
stood  Oliver  Bolt.  Hannah  clutched  Kyn  closer 
to  her  breast,  and  uttered  a  hoarse  cry  of  sudden 
alarm. 

"Why  are  you  watching  me?"  she  demanded, 
panting  in  her  terror. 

"Why  are  you  peeping  round  corners?"  he  an- 
swered in  a  fierce  and  bitter  voice. 

Hannah  looked  at  him  bravely,  her  heart  beating1 
fast  in  her  bosom,  the  sweat  beading  her  brow. 
"I  spy,"  she  answered,  "because  I  am  spied  upon." 

"Lady  Mane  was  ruined  by  a  spy,"  Oliver  re- 
torted slowly. 

"You  speak  in  riddles." 

"And  you — you  lie !"  he  said,  drawing  nearer. 

Hannah  faced  him  calmly,  realizing  that  she  had 
entered  upon  a  quarrel  and  must  bear  herself  in  it 
with  courage  and  determination.  "If  a  man  were 
left  in  the  house,"  she  cried  contemptuously,  "you 
would  not  dare  to  insult  me." 

"Keep  your  melodramatics  for  an  audience !"  he 
said,  scowlingly. 

Little  Kyn  began  to  whimper.  "Miss  Mersey," 
he  said,  "I  do  not  like  this  man.  Please  take  me 
away." 

Passion  of  the  most  hideous  description  swept 
across  the  white  face  of  Oliver  Bolt.  His  dark 
eyes  flashed  fire,  and  he  took  a  step  forward  to  the 


128  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

child.    "God's  curses  on  you !"  he  cried  between  his 

teeth.    "You,  you "    But  he  never  finished  the 

sentence,  and,  turning  on  his  heel,  walked  swiftly 
away. 

Hannah  went  as  quickly  to  her  room,  and  once 
there  shut  and  locked  the  door.  Then  she  rang  the 
bell  for  one  of  the  maids.  Kyn  sat  upon  her  bed 
•while  she  opened  wardrobes  and  cabinets,  and 
made  preparations  for  packing.  In  the  midst  of 
this  work  she  was  interrupted  by  a  knock  at  the 
door. 

"Who's  there?"  she  cried  cheerfully. 

"Me,  miss,"  said  the  voice  of  one  of  the  maids. 
And  Hannah,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  opened  the 
door.  The  girl  was  a  stout  country  wench,  and 
had  always  been  very  attentive  to  Hannah.  So 
the  governess,  opening  her  purse,  explained  that 
she  wanted  some  one  to  help  her  pack  as  she  was 
not  feeling  very  well,  and  the  girl,  having  pocketed 
five  shillings  with  a  broad  smile  overspreading  her 
rosy  face,  was  soon  hard  at  work  over  Hannah's 
boxes. 

"Ain't  the  news  awful,  miss?"  she  said. 

"Too  dreadful,"  Hannah  answered. 

"I  suppose  when  his  lordship  comes  back  we 
shall  all  be  turned  off.  He's  terrible  mean ;  it  was 
only  the  countess  who  ever  made  the  money  fly 
in  the  castle." 

"Oh!"  said  Hannah  inquiringly. 

"Lor,  yes.  The  earl  when  he's  alone  only  keeps 
Mrs.  Whittle,  the  cook,  one  maid,  and  William,  his 


AN   OPEN   ENEMY  129 

valet.  He's  a  regular  hermit.  And  now  with  this 
awful  tragedy  he'll  be  wuss  than  ever  he  was  afore, 
at  least,  that's  what  they're  all  saying  downstairs. 
Mrs.  Whittle  won't  be  just  pleased,"  she  went  on 
with  a  chuckle ;  "no,  that  she  won't !'' 

"Speak  low,"  said  Hannah  in  a  wh'jjper,  "we  may 
be  overheard." 

The  girl  nodded  intelligently.  "I  know  what  you 
mean.  The  ole  cat's  always  peeping  an*  peering 
an'  listening." 

"Why  do  you  think  she  won't  be  pleased?"  said 
Hannah  in  a  whisper. 

"Lor,  miss,  she's  made  a  tidy  bit  out  of  the 
countess ;  regerlar  bled  her  ladyship,  she  has.  But 
she  won't  get  much  blood  out  of  the  old  stone !" 

"What's  the  old  stone?"  asked  little  Kyn  sud- 
denly. 

"Deary  me!"  cried  the  maid,  *'if  I  didn't  quite 
forget  the  child  was  in  the  room.  There  1  ain't  it  a 
good  thing  I  spoke  in  parables  ?" 

And  while  Hannah  quieted  the  child,  the  rosy 
country  wench  finished  the  packing,  strapping  the 
trunks  with  amazing  energy,  and  babbling  to  her- 
self about  little  pitchers  and  long  ears  with  the 
greatest  good  humor  in  the  world. 

"Oh !"  cried  Hannah  suddenly  as  the  last  buckle- 
tongue  shot  into  its  hole,  "I've  forgotten  my  let- 
ters!" She  went  to  the  drawer  where  poor  Dick 
Brough's  passionate  love  epistles  were  allowed  to 
slumber  peacefully,  after  having  been  but  little  dis- 
turbed by  the  woman  who  inspired  their  tender- 


130  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

ness.  Then  she  gave  a  quick  muffled  cry  of  fear. 
The  drawer  was  empty. 

Hiding  her  chagrin  as  best  she  could,  Hannah 
said  that  she  must  have  packed  the  letters  without 
remembering  it,  and  went  from  the  room,  accom- 
panied by  the  maid,  to  Lord  Kyn's  apartment. 
There  she  waited,  faithful  to  her  charge,  till  the 
child  was  dressed  for  traveling,  and  then,  bidding 
good-by  to  the  maid,  descended  to  the  dining- 
room,  where  she  had  been  told  that  lunch  was  pre- 
pared for  them. 

Without  adventure  of  any  kind,  and  without  see- 
ing either  Mrs.  Whittle  or  Oliver  Bolt  again,  Han- 
nah and  little  Lord  Kyn  left  the  castle,  and  drove 
to  the  railway  station. 

It  was  only  when  she  had  settled  down  in  her 
carriage  to  make  the  tedious  cross-country  journey 
to  Poyntz,  that  Hannah  remembered  the  letter 
which  Criddle  had  brought  to  her  from  Sir  Michael 
Dulverton.  With  haste  she  drew  the  letter  from 
her  pocket,  looked  for  a  moment  at  the  neat  direc- 
tion, and  then  tore  open  the  envelope.  This  is 
what  she  read : — 

"Lady  Mane  is  innocent.    I  am  innocent." 

Remorse  for  a  moment  possessed  and  rocked 
her  soul.  "He,  then,"  she  thought,  "knows  that  I 
have  played  the  part  of  spy;  and  in  my  hour  of 
triumph  he  sends  me  this!  This  note  of  seven 
words.  Lady  Mane  is  innocent.  I  am  innocent. 
It  is  his  revenge — a  reproof! 

"He  knows,"  thought  Hannah,  as  the  train  jolted 


AN   OPEN   ENEMY  !$! 

and  rattled  on  its  way,  "that  I  am  aware  of  their 
innocence,  and  he  thinks  that  I  have  wittingly 
mined  them  both,  knowing  of  their  innocence ! 
Ah!  if  he  knew  the  whole  truth.  I  spied,  but  on 
guilty  people.  I  plotted,  but  against  the  wicked. 
I  had  rather  lose  my  life  than  that  harm  should 
come  to  him.  Yes,  body  and  soul,  rather  than 
one  hair  of  his  head  should  suffer !" 

"Silence!"  cried  the  voice  of  Ambition;  "he  is 
but  one  man  in  the  world,  and  one  who  cares 
nothing  for  you.  You  have  gained  the  great  stake : 
title,  boundless  wealth,  land  as  beautiful  as  any  in 
fair  England ;  this  is  now  yours.  What  matter  his 
ruin  any  more  than  hers  ?  Think  no  more  of  him ; 
think  not  of  the  losers,  but  of  the  great  winner 
who  has  played  boldly  and  well,  the  great  winner 
who  found  the  cards  suddenly  thrust  into  her  hands 
and  played  them  one  by  one  and  scored  victory. 
Think  of  yourself,  of  the  proud  future  that 
stretches  before  you.  To  Kyn  Castle  you  came 
a  friendless  governess;  you  will  return  a  countess 
of  England  and  mistress  of  all  its  wealth.  The  man 
is  dust  and  ashes  weighed  against  all  this." 

"But  I  love  him,  I  love  him — mind,  body  and 
soul !"  This  was  the  agonized  cry  of  the  spirit  of 
Love ;  but  Ambition  laid  a  fierce  hand  across  his 
mouth,  and  Hannah  had  peace. 


XI 


HANNAH    SEES   POYNTZ   THROUGH   DIFFERENT   SPEC- 
TACLES 

WHEN  we  last  saw  Hannah  at  Poyntz  she 
was  kneeling  in  the  darkness  at  her  bed- 
side praying  for  the  capacity  to  love  goodness.  It 
was  a  pretty,  spontaneous  yielding  to  emotion. 
Touched  by  the  noble  simplicity  of  the  squire's 
character,  by  the  caressing  tenderness  of  Mrs. 
Brough,  and  the  general  innocence  and  purity  of 
that  household,  she  had  prayed,  earnestly  enough, 
that  she  might  become  like  unto  them.  She 
longed  in  those  minutes,  as  the  reader  will  remem- 
ber, to  be  free  of  that  temperament  and  nature 
which  the  actions  and  circumstances  of  her  youth 
had  slowly  matured  and  strengthened  in  her  being. 
Rather  than  pretend  to  love  goodness,  she  wanted 
to  love  goodness;  rather  than  pay  the  homage  of 
vice  to  virtue,  she  wanted  to  love  virtue  for  itself, 
sincerely,  honestly.  Just  as  there  are  greetings 
where  no  kindness  is,  so  there  are  sinless  lives 
where  no  goodness  is.  Hannah's  life  had  been,  as 
poor,  draggled  humanity  goes,  without  reproach ; 
but  she  was  conscious  that  her  goodness  was  only  a 
convenience,  that  in  well-doing  she  found  no  abid- 
ing pleasure.  In  short,  she  wanted  to  abandon  the 
132 


part  she  was  playing,  she  wanted  to  live.  And 
so,  touched  for  the  moment  by  all  the  innocence 
and  purity  of  that  simple  Christmas  merry-making, 
she  had  prayed  for  the  power  to  desire  eternal 
righteousness  above  all  the  baubles  and  bubbles  of 
Time. 

Then  she  went  to  Kyn  Castle.  From  the  decent 
poverty  of  Poyntz  she  went  to  the  munificence  and 
splendor  of  Kyn  Castle.  There  the  spirit  of  Ambi- 
tion ruled  her  mind ;  she  no  longer  gave  a  passing 
thought  to  the  object  of  existence,  or  to  the  excel- 
lence of  well-doing;  she  thought  only  of  her  own 
social  advancement,  the  gratification  of  her  own 
desires,  of  the  possibilities  of  her  position.  And 
Fate,  let  us  admit,  tempted  her  sorely.  Cards  were 
slid  into  her  hand  that  only  one  who  loved  virtue 
far  beyond  all  the  things  of  earth  would  have  found 
power  to  cast  away  with  contempt  and  loathing. 
She  played  those  cards.  She  played  and  won;  but 
in  winning  she  brought  ruin  and  disgrace  to  a 
woman  who  had  done  her  no  injury,  and  to  a  man 
she  loved,  in  her  own  dumb  fashion,  more  than  all 
other  creatures  upon  earth.  This  caused  her  sor- 
row— for  the  moment  profound  sorrow;  but  there 
was  no  repentance.  That  must  be  remembered: 
she  was  sorry :  she  did  not  repent. 

The  return  to  Poyntz,  to  its  tranquillity,  its 
rugged  honesty,  its  healthful  simplicity,  might  very 
well  have  awakened  in  her  mind,  after  the  feverish 
excitement  of  the  last  few  days  in  Kyn  Castle,  a 
deeper  and  more  enduring  longing  for  peace  of 


134  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

mind  and  calm  of  soul.  But  Dis  aliter  visum,  as  we 
say  when  we  yield  to  our  baser  soul.  Hannah 
now  saw  Poyntz  through  the  spectacles  of  Kyn 
Castle.  She  shuddered  at  its  worn  carpets,  its 
straitened  table,  its  sorry,  old-fashioned  wall-pa- 
pers, its  absence  of  life  and  movement.  The  rollick- 
ing chaff  of  old  Gregory  struck  her  as  very  dull, 
the  sweet,  loving  tenderness  of  Dame  Jane  as  very 
boring,  and  the  secret  affection  of  Dick,  the  labor- 
ious young  chemist,  as  something  rather  more 
than  irritating.  She  was  like  a  poor  girl  searching 
half-heartedly  through  cupboards  for  a  last  sea- 
son's dress,  and  finding  that  which  she  had  treas- 
ured up  in  her  mind  as  something  at  least  com- 
fortable, not  only  dull  and  tarnished,  but  moth- 
fretted  and  shrunken. 

One  afternoon,  when  Squire  Brough  had  gone 
out  to  see  if  he  could  find  a  pheasant  for  the  larder, 
when  Mrs.  Brough  was  visiting  sick  cottagers,  and 
Dick  was  busily  perfecting  his  important  dis- 
covery, Hannah,  who  was  sitting  with  little  Kyn 
under  one  of  the  garden  trees,  was  surprised  to 
see  a  fly  crawling  painfully  up  the  drive.  At  first 
she  thought  it  must  be  some  caller,  then,  with  a 
shudder,  she  thought  it  might  be  Oliver  Bolt.  But 
when  the  fly  stopped  in  front  of  the  door,  the  man 
who  got  out  was  no  less  a  person  that  my  lord  of 
Mane. 

Hannah,  in  the  midst  of  her  surprise,  found  her- 
self very  near  loud  and  hearty  laughter.  For  my 
lord  cut  a  really  queer  figure.  He  wore  a  tall  hat 


THROUGH    DIFFERENT    SPECTACLES     135 

of  considerable  height,  almost  entirely  innocent  of 
brim,  tilted  over  his  eyes,  so  that  it  appeared  to  rest 
upon  the  bridge  of  his  nose.  He  wore  also  a  frock 
coat  that  stopped  suddenly  short  some  three  inches 
above  his  knees;  a  pair  of  fawn-colored  trousers; 
and,  to  complete  his  toilet,  over  the  little  varnished 
boots  were  strapped  a  pair  of  white  linen  gaiters. 
He  looked  half  dandy,  half  comedian,  standing  there 
with  a  carpet  bag  in  one  hand  and  a  large  umbrella 
in  the  other.  Hannah,  remembering  that  she  was 
to  marry  this  man,  shuddered,  and  forgot  her  laugh- 
ter. Then  gathering  Kyn  into  her  arms,  she  hur- 
ried forward,  with  a  glad  and  very  beautiful  smile 
of  welcome  for  her  lord  and  master. 

"Stop  a  minute,"  he  said  in  his  squeaky  voice, 
as  she  came  forward ;  "I'm  talkin'  to  this  fellow 
about  his  fare " 

"Which  is  three  shilling,  and  not  a  varding  less/' 
said  the  driver. 

"Which  is  two  shillin's,  and  not  a  halfpenny  more 
do  you  get !"  retorted  the  earl. 

"Ask  the  lady,"  cried  the  cabman;  "she  knows 
what  the  fare  is.  Ask  her." 

"Ask  her  be  damned !"  cried  the  earl.  "I  timed 
you  by  my  watch,  and  you  took  twenty-four 
minutes ;  twenty-four  minutes  at  a  penny  a  minute's 
two  shillin's.  Don't  you  know  simple  arithmetic?" 

"I've  got  a  very  fast  horse,"  argued  the  man, 
"and  you've  got  a  very  slow  watch ;  and  I  don't  let 
out  my  cabs  by  the  minute,  neither.  Three  shilling 
is  my  fare,  and  not  a  varding " 


136  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

The  earl  drew  a  card  from  his  pocket,  and  handed 
it  to  the  driver.  "Then  you  can  sue  me  for  it!" 
he  said;  "and  I'll  have  the  distance  measured,  see 
if  I  don't." 

The  cabman  looked  fixedly  at  the  card  for  several 
seconds ;  then  he  held  out  his  hand.  "Give  us  the 
florin,"  he  said;  "dang  it,  but  I'm  too  old  to  get 
summoning  earls,  I  am." 

With  the  two  shillings  in  his  breeches  pocket  the 
old  fellow  climbed  back  onto  his  box,  gathered  up 
his  reins,  and  jerked  the  whip  from  its  socket. 
"Lord  love  me !"  he  exclaimed ;  "but  of  all  the  earls 
I  ever  did  see Why,  I  give  my  ostler  tup- 
pence !"  And  then  he  drove  off. 

"What  d'ye  think  of  that?"  squeaked  the  earl, 
giving  Hannah  two  fingers. 

Hannah  smiled  dutifully.  "If  everybody  did  the 
same,"  she  said,  "how  much  nicer  it  would  be  for 
ladies  traveling  alone." 

"And  what  d'ye  think  of  me,  eh?"  chuckled  the 
earl.  "Don't  you  think  I  can  stand  my  groun'  as 
well  as  any  of  these  damned  loud-mouthed  black- 
guards ?" 

"I  do,  indeed,"  Hannah  replied.  "And  I  wish/* 
she  added,  after  a  pause,  "that  you  would  stand 
your  ground  with  Mrs.  Whittle,  and  turn  her  away. 
I  hate  her!  Oh,  I  hate  her  so!" 

The  earl  bit  his  lip.  "Now  don't  you  try  any  of 
those  games,  my  pretty.  D'ye  understand?  I 
won't  have  it.  I  won't  have  you  interferin'  in  my 
concerns."  He  began  to  chuckle  in  his  squeaky 


THROUGH    DIFFERENT    SPECTACLES     137 

fashion.  "You  ain't  the  countess  yet,  and  when 
you  are,  don't  interfere  in  my  plans.  That's  flat — 
as  flat  as  the  top  of  my  hat.  Talkin'  of  that,  Han- 
nah, what  d'ye  think  of  my  hat,  eh?" 

Hannah  was  looking  very  sad  and  very  hurt.  "I 
think,  my  lord,"  she  said  quietly,  "that  it  would  be 
better  not  to  talk  about  the  future  in  the  presence 
of  other  people." 

"Other  people !  Is  Kyn  a  person,  eh  ?"  chuckled 
the  earl.  "Bless  my  soul,  I  forgot  the  little  devil 
was  here.  How  are  you,  Kyn?" 

Hannah  led  the  way  into  the  house,  and  on  the 
return  of  Mrs.  Brough  she  presented  the  earl,  for 
whom  a  room  was  instantly  prepared.  "I'm  only 
stoppin'  a  night,  ma'am,"  he  said.  "A  surprise  visit. 
I  couldn't  keep  away  from  my  boy  any  longer,  and 
I  had  to  come.  Ain't  he  a  little  darlin',  now?" 

"A  very  sweet  child,"  said  Mrs.  Brough. 

"I  never  knew  a  sweeter,  ma'am,"  went  on  the 
earl,  leering  at  Hannah.  "He  cut  his  teeth  without 
a  whimper,  took  the  measles  as  if  it  had  been  his 
breakfast,  and  never  caused  his  father  a  minute's 
anxiety  from  the  time  he  was  born.  What  d'ye 
think  of  that  now?" 

"I  think  it  promises  exceedingly  well  for  his 
future,"  cooed  Mrs.  Brough. 

"And  mine,  too !"  chuckled  the  earl. 

Then  old  Gregory  arrived,  and  gave  the  odd  little 
earl  a  characteristic  welcome. 

"We're  plain  folk,  my  lord,"  he  said,  "but  if  you 
can  eat  honest  English  meat  and  drink  a  bottle  of 


138  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

moderate  port,  we'll  do  our  best  for  you.  You're  a 
friend  of  Hannah,  and,  therefore,  you're  welcome 
in  Poyntz." 

"Very  kind  of  you,"  answered  the  earl,  draw- 
ing forth  his  gold  toothpick  from  his  waistcoat 
pocket.  "And  I'll  tell  you  straight  away  I  like 
your  house,  and  I  shan't  mind  comin'  again. 
Would  you  like  to  know  why?  I'll  tell  you. 
There's  so  damned  few  servants  about."  He 
chuckled,  and  old  Gregory  laughed ;  Hannah  looked 
doubtfully  at  Mrs.  Brough.  The  old  lady  was 
smoothing  out  the  folds  of  her  skirt  with  lowered 
eyes. 

"My  dear,"  she  said  to  Hannah  aftenvards,  "what 
a  very  odd  little  man  Lord  Mane  is.  I  really  never 
met  such  a  quaint  and  unpleasant  creature.  Why 
do  you  think  he  likes  a  house  with  few  servants? 
The  housemaid  has  just  told  me.  When  he  went 
up  to  his  room  he  rang  the  bell,  and  she  answered 
it.  'How  many  servants  are  there  here  ?'  he  asked. 
She  told  him  four.  He  gave  her  four  shillings. 
'That,'  he  said,  'is  to  be  divided  among  you — a 
shilling  each.  I  always  give  my  tips  when  I  arrive, 
to  secure  good  service  and  proper  respect.'  Isn't 
that  very  odd  and  strange?  Then  he  told  me  not 
to  sympathize  with  him  in  his  domestic  afflictions. 
'Getting  divorced,'  he  said,  'isn't  a  subject  for  sym- 
pathy. I  feel  as  happy  about  it  as  if  I  was  getting 
married/  Really,  my  dear,  I  don't  think  he  is 
quite  right  in  his  head." 

Hannah  began  to  have  misgivings  about  her 


THROUGH    DIFFERENT    SPECTACLES     139 

future ;  for  if  the  earl  was  miserly  now,  he  would 
perhaps  be  even  meaner  when  she  returned  to  the 
castle  as  his  bride.  Hannah  had  a  very  thorough 
appreciation  of  the  power  of  money.  To  live  in 
Kyn  Castle  as  the  Countess  of  Mane  seemed  to  her 
a  very  entrancing  prospect,  but  to  live  there  in 
semi-poverty  offered  her  no  alluring  attractions. 
So  she  pondered  what  she  had  seen  and  heard  that 
day,  and  when  the  earl  requested  a  private  inter- 
view with  her  after  dinner,  she  went  to  meet  him 
with  the  same  dignified  expression  of  hurt  feelings 
with  which  she  had  favored  him  at  the  front  door 
of  Poyntz  Hall. 

The  interview  took  place  in  the  squire's  study. 
A  lamp  with  a  green  shade  burned  in  the  center 
of  the  littered  table,  and  shed  a  somber  light 
through  the  large,  shabby  apartment.  The  earl, 
still  in  his  frock  coat  and  fawn-colored  trousers, 
stood  in  front  of  the  empty  fireplace,  his  hands  in 
the  pockets  of  his  waistcoat,  his  legs  as  wide  apart 
as  those  little  members  would  go,  and  his  head 
craning  forward  over  his  neck — the  little  red  neck 
with  its  snow-white  collar  and  beautifully  tied 
cravat. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "what's  the  matter  with  you?" 

"Nothing,  my  lord,"  said  Hannah,  fixing  him 
with  her  great  dark  eyes. 

"Grin,  then,"  retorted  his  lordship.  "Damme, 
you  come  into  the  room  lookin'  as  if  I  was  goin' 
to  pull  one  of  your  teeth." 

Hannah  smiled. 


140  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

"Ain't  you  anxious  to  hear  how  I'm  gettin'  on?" 
he  demanded.  "Don't  you  know  I've  been  away 
from  home  all  this  time,  makin'  things  hot  for  her 
ladyship?" 

"I  thought  you  were  probably  so  engaged,  my 
lord,"  Hannah  replied,  with  amusing  hauteur. 

"Damme !  don't  'my  lord'  me,  and  in  the  name 
of  Apollo  or  Cupid  or  any  other  damned  god  you 
like,  do  be  cheerful!" 

"I  am  sad,"  said  Hannah  smiling,  "because — 
because,  well,  because  you  do  not  seem  so  kind  and 
gentle  as  you  used  to  be  at  Kyn." 

"Now,  perdition  take  you,  but  do  you  expec'  a 
man  to  be  kind  and  gentle  who's  been  for  weeks 
and  weeks  cookin'  evidence  to  stew  his  own  wife 
in!  Don't  you  understand  I've  been  worried  to 
death?  It's  not  so  easy  as  you  think,  gettin'  free 
of  a  woman  when  you've  once  tied  yourself  to  her. 
My  lawyers  told  me  my  case  wouldn't  do ;  I  told 
'em  that  it  must  be  recast  and  brought  out  to  suit 
modern  conditions.  And  ever  since  then  I've  been 
helpin'  'em.  I  got  old  Criddle  up.  He's  seen  a 
lot  of  things,  old  Criddle  has.  And  Saunders  the 
housemaid,  and  William  my  valet,  they've  seen 
things,  or  think  they've  seen  things,  and  damme, 
they'll  swear  her  ladyship's  reputation  to  the  devil." 
He  chuckled  and  looked  at  Hannah,  his  head  on 
one  side,  his  toothpick  in  his  mouth.  "Ain't  I  a 
clever  fellow  ?  Wouldn't  I  have  made  a  great  states- 
man ?  That's  what  comes  of  bein'  born  in  the  rulin* 


THROUGH    DIFFERENT    SPECTACLES     141 

classes."  And  he  began  to  snigger  with  much  self- 
satisfaction. 

"My  lord,"  said  Hannah,  "I  love  simplicity,  I 
love  peace,  and  I  love  home.  To  share  these  with 
you  I  am  very  willing.  Pray  don't  ask  me  to  share 
your  plans  concerning  the  countess.  I  can't  bear 
to  think  that  she  must  be  ruined,  that  I  was  too 
late  to  save  her." 

"But  you  want  to  marry  me,  all  the  same,  eh?" 
demanded  Lord  Mane,  laughing  contemptuously. 

"Pardon  me,  my  lord,"  said  Hannah,  eying  him 
sternly,  "it  is  you  who  want  to  marry  me !" 

"Go  to  the  devil !"  said  the  earl,  glaring  over  his 
toothpick. 

Hannah's  eyes  dropped,  and  she  walked  quietly 
to  the  door. 

"Come  back !"  cried  the  earl. 

Hannah  turned  and  faced  him.  "Never,"  she 
said  very  quietly,  and  went  out  of  the  room. 

The  next  morning  at  breakfast  Lord  Mane  an- 
nounced that  he  was  so  very  comfortable,  and  so 
delighted  with  his  host  and  hostess,  that  he  would 
delay  his  departure  until  the  following  day.  After 
breakfast  he  told  Hannah  he  wished  to  see  her 
concerning  Lord  Kyn,  and  desired  her  to  walk 
with  him  in  the  garden. 

With  his  tall  tall-hat  and  his  little  frock  coat  he 
looked  a  fantastic  figure  walking  in  the  garden  with 
a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 
Hannah  shuddered  as  she  joined  him. 

"Make  it  up  ?"  he  said,  when  she  reached  his  side. 


142  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

"My  lord,"  said  Hannah,  in  her  low,  unimpas- 
sioned  voice,  "it  is  time  we  understood  each  other, 
and  it  is  time  we  settled  our  plans  for  the  future. 
I  am  a  poor  girl,  with  no  father  to  guard  my  inter- 
ests, and  I  must  do  for  myself,  however  unpleasant 
the  task,  the  work  that  is  generally  done  for  a 
daughter  by  her  father." 

"Don't  talk  like  a  copy-book,"  interposed  his 
lordship,  puffing  contentedly  at  his  pipe.  Then  he 
added,  encouragingly:  "Go  on,  go  on." 

"I  am  willing  to  marry  you,"  said  Hannah,  "to 
try  with  all  my  heart  and  mind  to  make  your  home 
happy.  But  I  must  be  something  more  than  a 
schoolgirl,  something  more  than  a  dependent.  I 
must  have  an  allowance,  it  need  not  be  very 
large " 

"That's  a  mercy !"  chuckled  his  lordship. 

"And,"  continued  Hannah,  "I  must  have  a  voice 
in  the  management  of  the  castle.  In  the  first 
place,  Mrs.  Whittle  must  go." 

Lord  Mane  took  the  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and 
lovingly  rubbed  his  nose  with  the  hot  bowl. 
"You're  a  damned  little  fool,"  he  said. 

"My  lord,"  began  Hannah. 

"Listen!"  cried  the  earl,  his  voice  squeaking 
more  than  ever.  "Now,  you  listen  to  me.  I  told 
you  when  we  first  met  that  I  was  your  lord  and 
master.  I  told  you  that  flat.  Your  lord  and  master 
I  mean  to  be.  I've  had  enough  of  bein'  Lady 
Mane's  husban'.  I'm  goin'  to  try  the  experiment 
of  bein'  Lady  Mane's  lord  and  master.  The  other 


THROUGH    DIFFERENT    SPECTACLES     143 

didn't  answer,  understan'?  And  as  for  what  you 
say  about  managin'  my  house,  that's  damned  non- 
sense. If  I  wanted  a  proud,  stuck-up,  high-and- 
mighty  miss,  I  could  take  my  pick  of  the  drawin'- 
rooms  of  London.  There  isn't  a  blushin'  virgin 
among  the  best  blood  in  Englan'  but  wouldn't  give 
half  her  life  to  slip  into  my  wife's  shoes.  Have 
you  thought  of  that,  Miss  Hoighty-Toighty  ?  But 
I  chose  you  because  you  looked  modest,  because 
you  didn't  seem  as  if  you  wanted  lickin'  into  shape, 
and  because  you've  got  as  fine  a  pair  of  dark  eyes 
as  any  of  my  bullocks.  Now,  don't  you  spoil  those 
eyes  by  tryin'  to  make  'em  proud  and  haughty. 
They're  rustic  eyes,  woodlan'  eyes,  cow  eyes;  let 
'em  remain  so!" 

He  put  his  pipe  into  his  mouth,  and  puffed  the 
gray  ashes  calmly  back  into  a  glow. 

"I  was  not  attempting  to  give  myself  airs,"  said 
Hannah  in  her  gentlest  voice. 

"That's  the  biggest  I've  heard  you  tell !"  laughed 
the  earl.  "That's  a  whopper,  a  real  whopper !  You 
were  tryin',  my  pretty  dark  bird,  you  were  tryin' 
your  little  hardest  to  get  me  under  your  thumb. 
That's  what  you  were  tryin'.  You  were  tryin'  to 
catch  a  very  old  bird  with  a  very  small  pinch  'o  salt. 
You've  failed.  And  I" — he  paused — "well,  I'm  still 
your  lord  and  master.  Ain't  that  funny,  now?" 

Hannah  laughed.  "My  dear  lord,"  she  said,  "if 
you  allow  your  imagination  free  play  when  you 
begin  to  analyze  other  people's  intentions  the  very 
saints  will  not  be  safe.  I  assure  you,  I  love  Kyn 


144  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

Castle  for  its  own  sweet  sake ;  I  love  the  farm,  the 
cows,  the  pigs,  the  sheep,  the  turkeys,  the  geese, 
the  ducks,  the  chickens;  and  I  love  the  park  with 
its  trees  and  its  deer;  and  I  love  sweet  little 
Kyn " 

"In  fac',"  chuckled  his  lordship,  "you  love  every 
damned  thing  there  excep'  the  master !" 

"I  thought  I  mentioned  the  deer !"  said  Hannah, 
laying  her  hand  playfully  on  his  arm. 

"You've  come  roun',  then?"  said  the  earl.  "I 
like  you  for  it.  You  see  the  situation,  and  you  bow 
to  the  inevitable.  Very  creditable.  Now  don't 
you  ever  try  games  with  me  again.  We  shall  get 
on  very  comfortably  if  you  continue  as  you  be- 
gan. And,  another  thing,  you  make  a  damned  poor 
imitation  of  my  late  countess.  Don't  try  it,  my 
dear,  don't  try  it." 

Then  he  proceeded  to  talk  business.  He  had 
arranged  with  Squire  Brough,  he  explained,  that 
Hannah  and  Kyn  were  to  remain  at  Poyntz  until 
the  divorce  proceedings  were  settled.  "The  old 
buffer,"  he  said,  "wouldn't  take  a  penny,  though  I 
offered  him  something  and  in  a  damned  gentle- 
manly manner,  too!"  That,  he  explained,  made 
it  all  the  better  for  Hannah.  He  had  intended  to 
give  her  five  pounds;  he  would  now  make  it  ten. 
Hannah  was  to  come  to  London  when  everything 
was  settled,  and  they  were  to  be  married  by  special 
license  at  a  city  church  without  a  soul  knowing  of 
the  affair.  "Then  the  honeymoon!"  he  said  chuck- 
ling; "and  that  will  occupy  just  as  much  time  as 


THROUGH   DIFFERENT    SPECTACLES     145 

the  fastest  train  takes  to  run  from  Paddington  to 
Kyn!" 

Some  weeks  after  Lord  Mane's  departure,  Han- 
nah, having  comforted  herself  with  the  reflection 
that  his  lordship  was  old,  and  therefore  not  likely 
to  live  long,  and,  further,  having  convinced  herself 
that  the  glory  of  Kyn  Castle  would  compensate  for 
her  lord's  despotism,  and  was  much  to  be  preferred 
before  poverty  and  shabby  gentility,  came  to  the 
conclusion,  being  of  an  eminently  business-like 
nature,  to  be  on  with  the  new  love  definitely  and 
definitely  off  with  the  old.  She  made  up  her  mind 
to  marry  Lord  Mane,  and  she  felt  that  in  these 
circumstances  it  would  be  only  decent  of  her  to 
break  with  the  earnest  young  chemist.  So  she 
went  down  the  stone  stairs  to  the  laboratory  one 
morning,  and  tapped  on  the  door.  There  was  no 
answer.  She  turned  the  handle  gently  and  went  in. 
She  could  see  nothing  of  Dick  in  the  low-roofed, 
lamp-lighted  cellar,  but  a  sound  very  like  sobbing 
broke  on  her  ears. 

"Dick!"  she  cried.  "Dick!  what  is  it?  What's 
the  matter?"  Then  she  saw  him.  His  face  was 
buried  in  his  arms  on  the  table  that  shone  in  a  dull 
manner  with  a  chaotic  assortment  of  bottles,  test- 
tubes,  and  all  the  paraphernalia  of  chemistry.  He 
lifted  his  face  as  she  came  forward,  and  looked  at 
her  with  stricken  eyes. 

"My  poor  Dick!"  she  cried.  "Oh,  my  poor 
Dick!  what  is  it?" 

"I  am  tired,"  he  said,  "that's  all." 


146  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  bent  her 
face  to  his.  "Only  tired,  Dick,  are  you  sure?" 

"Quite  sure,"  he  answered.  "I  was  up  all  last 
night." 

There  was  a  long  silence,  and  then  Hannah,  who 
had  come  to  perform  a  disagreeable  task,  and 
meant  to  get  through  it,  turned  her  back  to  the 
lamp,  and  looked  at  Dick.  The  light  shining  on  his 
pinched  face  showed  her  that  his  flesh  was  hard 
and  gray,  that  his  eyes  behind  their  gleaming 
glasses  were  full  of  a  quiet  agony.  She  felt  sorry 
for  him,  but  she  could  not  spare  him.  Perhaps, 
judging  his  heart  by  her  own,  she  did  not  expect 
him  to  take  her  words  with  a  very  ill  grace. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  she  said,  "about  our 
engagement." 

"Yes,"  he  answered. 

"I  think,  Dick,  it  must  come  to  an  end." 

He  raised  his  head  quickly.  "Come  to  an  end  ?" 
he  repeated. 

"For  your  sake,  for  my  sake,"  she  answered. 

Dick  pressed  the  palm  of  his  right  hand  to  his 
forehead.  "Why,  for  your  sake?"  he  asked  in  a 
voice  that  trembled. 

"For  my  sake  and  your  sake,"  she  said  gently. 

"But  why  for  your  sake?"  he  persisted. 

"Marriage  for  me,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh,  "means 
not  the  fulfilment  of  one's  ideals,  not  the  satisfac- 
tion of  one's  love,  but,"  she  smiled  sadly,  "a  pro- 
vision for  the  future.  I  must  marry  when  I  can." 


THROUGH    DIFFERENT    SPECTACLES     147 

"Yes,  I  see.  You  must  marry  when  you  can. 
When  are  you  to  be  married?" 

"When?"  she  asked,  pretending  not  to  under- 
stand his  meaning. 

He  nodded. 

"I  cannot  say  when,"  she  replied  as  one  hurt. 

''Somebody  has  asked  you  to  be  his  wife?"  he 
persisted,  his  hand  still  pressed  to  his  forehead,  his 
eyes  growing  bright  and  fierce. 

"Yes.  Oh,  Dick,  why  don't  you  see  it  as  I  see 
it?" 

"And  you  have  accepted  him  ?"  he  cried,  swaying 
as  if  he  would  fall. 

"It  was  my  duty.    There  is  my  mother " 

"My  God!"  he  cried,  starting  up,  his  forehead 
white  where  the  hand  had  pressed,  his  eyes  blazing, 
the  poor,  thin  blue  lips  twitching  with  pain.  "My 
God!  this  is  the  end!  Listen,"  he  cried,  walking 
to  and  fro,  "I  have  been  working  for  your  sake 
as  well  as  mine.  I  have  worked  night  and  day  for 
months,  years.  Last  night  I  never  closed  my  eyes. 
For  your  sake  as  well  as  mine.  And  last  night  I 
found  that  I  was  wrong,  that  my  calculations  were 
false,  that  all  my  labor  was  thrown  away.  Think 
of  that ;  wrong  after  all  these  months !  I  wrestled 
with  the  damned  things  all  night ;  I  prayed  to  God 
that  my  dream  might  yet  come  true.  But  the  only 
answrer  I  got  was  the  mocking  of  devils — 'Failed ! 
failed !  failed !'  And  now  when  I  want  comfort, 
when  I  want  the  human  being  dearest  to  me  in  all 
the  world  to  share  the  burden  of  my  failure,  I  get 


148  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

this.  This!  My  God!  it  is  more  than  I  can 
bear." 

Instantly  they  were  wrestling  together.  He  had 
made  a  dash  for  a  bottle  on  the  table,  and  Hannah 
had  sprung  upon  him  at  the  same  moment.  They 
swayed  together,  neither  speaking,  each  staring  at 
each  with  something  like  terror  and  fear  in  their 
eyes.  At  last  Hannah  found  her  voice. 

"Think  of  your  mother!"  she  gasped.  "For 
Heaven's  sake,  Dick,  be  strong — be  a  man!" 

He  let  her  take  the  bottle  from  his  hand.  Then 
he  laughed.  "I  think  I  will  go  into  the  open  air," 
he  said.  "I  must  have  been  nearly  off  my  head. 
Thanks  for  the  tussle;  it  pulled  me  together!"  He 
smiled  wearily,  set  some  of  the  things  straight  on 
his  table,  and  then  walked  to  the  door. 

Hannah  followed  him  out  of  the  room,  and  saw 
him  pass  through  the  front  door.  Then  she  turned 
to  go  to  her  room.  As  she  went  she  encountered 
Mrs.  Brough. 

"My  dear,"  said  the  old  lady,  "what  is  that  odd- 
looking  bottle  in  your  hand?" 

"What  bottle?"  said  Hannah.  "Oh!"  she  ex- 
claimed, with  a  little  laugh ;  "I  forgot !  Fancy,  how 
silly  of  me!  It's  a  very  harmless  lotion.  One  of 
Mr.  Dick's  remedies  for  headache."  And  then  she 
made  some  trifling  inquiries  about  Kyn  and  passed 
up  to  her  room. 

"It  might  be  useful,"  she  sai3,  looking  at  the 
innocent  white  liquid.  "It  is  the  poison  that  works 
drop  by  drop,  and  if  Mrs.  Whittle  means  to  goad 


THROUGH   DIFFERENT   SPECTACLES     149 

me  into  madness,  or  the  earl  proves  a  devil.  I  can 
always  find  release  here."  Then  she  packed  the 
bottle  carefully  in  her  trunk. 

Three  days  afterwards  Dick  stopped  her  in  the 
garden.  "You  saved  my  life  the  other  day,"  he 
said  with  a  smile ;  "I  hope  you  also  saved  my 
poison  ?" 

"It  was  that  awful  deadly  stuff  you  told  me  about 
at  Christmas  ?"  she  asked,  with  well-affected  terror. 

He  nodded. 

"I  thought  it  was,"  she  said,  "and  you  frightened 
me  so  that  I  flung  it  away.  I  couldn't  help  it,  Dick. 
[You  frightened  me  so." 


XII 

MISS   MERSEY  PACKS   UP  HER  BOXES 

THE  Mane  Divorce  Case  came  before  the 
world  at  a  period  exceedingly  unfortunate 
for  the  "parties"  concerned.  There  was  nothing, 
really  nothing,  to  talk  about  at  this  time.  The 
Government  had  gone  to  sleep,  and  the  Opposition 
could  not  agree  among  themselves  as  to  the  best 
methods  of  rousing  it.  No  war  was  draining  the 
blood  and  revenue  of  the  country ;  no  famine  stalked 
with  plague  through  stricken  Asia ;  no  lover  had 
recently  done  his  sweetheart  to  death;  no  steamer 
had  gone  down  with  all  hands;  no  express  train 
had  dashed  into  a  local;  no  policeman  had  been 
kicked  to  death  in  the  purlieus  of  Plaistow; — in 
short,  as  the  old  gentleman  remarked,  opening  his 
evening  paper  in  the  railway  train  as  he  journeyed 
home  to  dinner,  the  papers  were  infernally  dull. 

In  the  midst  of  this  dreary  desert  suddenly 
loomed  the  little  oasis  of  a  fashionable  divorce  suit. 
Obscure  hints  were  thrown  out  that  a  lady  of  title 
would  soon  make  a  first  appearance  on  that  stage 
which  attracts  more  playgoers  than  any  other  in  the 
Fair  of  Life.  It  was  hinted,  too,  that  she  would 
make  her  appearance  in  company  with  a  promi- 
nent member  of  Parliament  whose  virtue  had  al- 
150 


MISS  MERSEY  PACKS  HER  BOXES   15* 

ways  been  unquestioned,  and  whose  devotion  to  the 
purity  of  public  and  private  life  rendered  him 
persona  grata  in  the  selectest  circles — aristocratic 
and  ecclesiastic.  Then  came  the  bomb.  The  re- 
spondent was  the  exquisite  Countess  of  Mane ;  the 
co-respondent  Sir  Michael  Dulverton.  With  this 
announcement  the  reader  of  newspapers  took  heart, 
and  the  printer  dusted  his  large  capitals  with 
loving  hand. 

A  thousand  stories  were  told  of  the  eccentric 
Lord  Mane.  Anecdotes  of  a  facetious  kind  ap- 
peared in  the  multitudinous  journals  of  the  scraps 
and  bits  character,  and  even  the  more  respectable 
newspapers  indulged  day  by  day  in  apocryphal 
stories  concerning  the  earl's  curious  tastes  and 
occupations.  Lady  Mane  came  in  for  much  jour- 
nalistic attention.  Her  name  had  long  been  asso- 
ciated with  "smart"  society — "smart,"  as  a  wit 
remarked,  being  a  term  used  to  distinguish  that 
kind  of  society  from  the  "best" — and  it  was  well 
known,  even  in  the  suburbs,  that  the  beautiful 
countess  was  severely  cut  by  the  Old  Guard  of 
British  aristocracy.  Her  name  had  so  frequently 
been  mentioned  in  connection  with  race  meetings, 
with  house  parties  where  it  was  well  known 
gambling  formed  the  staple  entertainment,  with 
Mrs.  "Jack"  This,  and  Mrs.  "Bobby"  That,  and 
with  what  is  called  "theatrical  society,"  that  people 
who  make  it  their  business  to  read  Society's  doings 
as  regularly  as  they  go  to  church  and  pay  the  wash- 
ing bill  had  long  got  to  think  of  Lady  Mane  as  a 


152  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

rather  flighty  young  creature,  and  were  therefore 
more  or  less  prepared  for  the  shock. 

But  Sir  Michael  Dulverton !  The  proud,  uncom- 
municative baronet,  who  was  a  staunch  and  loyal 
son  of  the  Church,  the  favorite  of  the  Old  Guard, 
the  future  Prime  Minister  of  England — here  was  a 
surprise  of  the  first  water.  Here  also  was  the  op- 
portunity of  Messrs.  Scraps  and  Bits.  These  two 
gentlemen,  over  their  quart  pots,  made  merry  at 
this  "hypocrite's"  downfall — "exposure,"  they 
called  it — as  they  laid  their  two  muddled  heads  to- 
gether and  connected  racy  paragraphs  for  their 
readers'  comfort  of  soul. 

"I  always  doubt  the  man  who  talks  about  purity," 
chuckled  Scraps. 

"Or  religion,"  said  Bits. 

"I  never  believe  in  a  man  who's  for  ever  singing 
hymns,"  said  Scraps. 

"Or  saying  his  prayers,"  said  Bits. 

"A  man  whose  name  gets  associated  with  Church 
work  is  generally  a  rogue,"  said  Scraps. 

"He  is  sure  to  be  found  out  in  the  end !"  laughed 
Bits. 

"Cherchez  la  femme!"  chuckled  Scraps. 

"Woman,  lovely  woman !"  cried  Bits,  raising  his 
tankard. 

So  the  actors  in  this  domestic  drama  came  in 
for  very  painful  publicity,  and  when  eventually  the 
case  was  brought  before  judge  and  jury  nothing 
else  was  talked  of  in  certain  drawing-rooms  of  Bel- 
gravia,  the  smoking-rooms  of  clubs,  and  the  parlors 


MISS  MERSEY   PACKS  HER  BOXES       153 

of  Suburbia.  It  was,  let  us  admit,  a  case  of  excep- 
tional interest.  A  woman,  whose  photograph  had 
appeared  in  every  illustrated  paper  in  every  con- 
ceivable attitude,  save  that  of  standing  on  her  head, 
whose  name  was  as  familiar  to  the  newspaper 
reader  as  that  of  Prime  Minister  or  the  public  hang- 
man, was  one  of  the  dramatis  persona;  another 
was  a  famous  member  of  Parliament,  noted  for  high 
aims  and  lofty  ambitions ;  a  third  was  one  of  the 
country's  wealthiest  noblemen,  who — as  every 
tattler  knew — shut  himself  up  in  his  famous  house, 
never  mixed  with  his  wife's  guests,  and  drove  his 
own  pigs  to  market ;  and  one  of  the  chief  witnesses 
was  a  society  poet,  a  brilliant  epigrammatist,  a 
writer  of  dangerous  plays,  a  famous  lover. 

Then  there  was  the  evidence.  Sir  Michael's  let- 
ter produced  what  was  called  a  "painful  sensation." 
The  earl's  story  of  finding  Sir  Michael  in  the  bou- 
doir with  Lady  Mane,  after  the  countess  had  dis- 
missed her  maid,  was  told  in  so  straightforward  a 
manner  that  not  a  juryman  there  doubted  any 
longer  of  the  respondent's  guilt.  Then  Olley  Bolt 
delighted  the  world  by  the  brilliant  manner  in  which 
he  chaffed  counsel,  and  the  clever  way  in  which  he 
tried  to  show  that  Lady  Mane  was  innocent.  But 
the  most  damaging  of  all  the  evidence — more  dam- 
aging than  the  false  evidence  of  the  servants  and 
the  fanatical  exaggerations  of  Criddle — was  the  cry 
of  the  countess  when  the  earl  entered  her  room, 
"Michael,  you  have  ruined  me !"  This,  clearly,  was 
the  cry  of  a  guilty  soul.  No  newspaper  reader 


154  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

doubted  any  longer,  and  the  jury,  with  wives  of 
their  own,  settled  there  and  then  which  way  the 
case  should  go. 

There  was  no  defense.  Sir  Michael  denied  the 
charges,  that  was  all.  The  countess  denied  them, 
and  added  that  Sir  Michael  had  always  been  some- 
thing of  a  brother  to  her  ladyship.  The  interview 
in  the  boudoir  was  explained  as  being  concerned 
with  a  matter  of  deep  personal  interest,  which  could 
not  be  put  off,  which  had  no  connection  with  the 
case,  and  which  could  not  be  disclosed  in  court. 

The  end  of  it  all  was  that  the  beautiful  countess 
assumed  her  maiden  name  and  became  Mrs. 
Bladen,  that  Sir  Michael  Dulverton  retired  from 
public  life,  and  that  the  Right  Honorable  Augustus 
Oakley  George  William  Rollitt,  tenth  Earl  of 
Mane,  Baron  Kyn,  of  Kyn  Castle,  in  the  county 
of  Vedonshire,  and  Kyn  House,  St.  James's  Square, 
was  free  to  marry  Hannah  Mersey,  daughter  of 
the  late  Rev.  John  Stuart  Mersey,  formerly  curate 
of  St.  Augustine's,  Bethnal  Green. 

When  the  latter  announcement  was  made,  several 
months  after  the  divorce  suit  (and  the  fountain  of 
the  intelligence,  let  it  be  known,  was  William,  the 
valet),  Messrs.  Scraps  and  Bits  dipped  pens  into 
a  different  colored  ink  and  provided  their  readers 
with  paragraphs  of  a  suitable  complexion.  Let  us 
quote  one  instance.  The  author,  I  believe,  was 
Scraps,  but  the  reader  will  detect,  especially  in  the 
split  infinitives  and  the  "and  which"  towards  the 


MISS  MERSEY  PACKS  HER  BOXES   155 

end  of  the  paragraph,  the  familiar  unmistakable 
hand  of  the  literary  Bits. 

"A  pretty  sequel  to  the  Mane  Divorce  Case,  to 
be  sure!  The  naughty  countess  a  year  or  so  ago 
engaged  a  demure  governess,  daughter  of  a  poor 
half-starved  curate,  to  carefully  look  after  her  neg- 
lected son,  a  beautiful  little  fellow  of  the  little  Lord 
Fauntleroy  type  (all  velveteens  and  gold  curls),  and 
this  little  governess  by  her  devotion  to  Fauntleroy 
produced  so  deep  an  impression  on  the  hardy  old 
earl's  heart  that  immediately  after  his  divorce  he 
offered  the  governess,  a  Miss  Mersey,  if  the  phrase 
may  be  permitted — the  motherhood  of  his  heir.  Tis 
a  pretty  tale.  May  the  coronet  sit  lightly  on  the 
gubernatorial  locks.  May  the  olive-branches  mul- 
tiply, and  continue  to  adequately  adorn  the  noble 
household.  Here  is  love,  romance,  and  sorrow 
beautifully  blended,  a  story  to  make  the  heart  grow 
younger,  and  which  is  stranger  than  fiction." 

This  paragraph  interested  other  people  besides 
Hannah.  Oliver  Bolt  was  sitting  in  the  smoking- 
room  of  his  club  writing  letters,  when  Lord  Escott 
brought  him  the  intelligence. 

"Here's  a  devilish  odd  thing,"  said  my  lord; 
"that  old  fossil  Mane's  going  to  get  married  again." 

Oliver  Bolt  wheeled  round  upon  him.  "Going 
to  get  married  again !"  he  exclaimed.  "Surely  it's 
a  tarradiddle.  My  dear  Escott,  who  told  you  the 
pretty  tale  ?" 

"I  saw  it  in  one  of  the  papers  just  now" — Lord 
Escott  never  differentiated  between  the  Times  and 


156  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

the  Scraps  and  Bits  journals.  "And  who,  my  dear 
fellow,  do  you  think  is  the  happy  creature?" 

"What  was  the  paper?"  Oliver  asked,  looking 
very  gray. 

"Wait  a  minute.  I  want  you  to  guess  who  the 
lady  is?" 

"I  don't  know.    Tell  me." 

"Why,  that  rather  fetching  governess  who  sang 
to  us1 — don't  you  remember?" 

Oliver  Bolt  muttered  a  little  oath.  "I  daresay 
it's  true,"  he  said. 

"By  gad !  she's  a  deuced  clever  little  bit  of  goods 
to  catch  that  old  toad,"  said  the  marquess,  turning 
away.  Then  he  came  back  again.  "I  say,  Bolt, 
I  gave  your  last  volume  of  verse  to  a  cousin  of 
mine,  an  awfully  clever  girl,  and  what  do  you  think 
she  said  of  them?" 

"You  say  she  is  awfully  clever?"  asked  Oliver. 
"Well,  then,  perhaps  she  compared  me  unfavorably 
with  Shelley,  accused  me  of  imitating  Swinburne, 
and  said  that  I  ought  to  study  William  Morris." 
He  laughed  his  deep  scornful  laugh.  "Is  that  what 
the  pretty  bos  bleu  said?" 

"She  said,  my  dear  fellow,  that  in  your  serious 
pomes  you  said  what  you  didn't  mean,  and  in  your 
dirty  pomes  you  meant  what  you  didn't  say.  She 
said  all  sorts  of  nasty  things  about  you,  and  hang 
me  if  I  could  make  her  believe  what  a  good  chap 
you  are." 

"You  must  introduce  me  to  the  cousin,"  said 
Oliver,  in  his  grand  manner.  "In  the  meantime, 


MISS   MERSEY   PACKS   HER  BOXES       157 

my  gratitude  for  your  championship.  Let  your 
cousin  read  Keats  and  rail  at  me.  You  and  I  un- 
derstand each  other.  Prcestat  amidtia  propin- 
quitati!  Cicero,  I  think."  And  with  a  laugh,  he 
turned  to  his  letters  again. 

But  the  face  that  bent  over  the  table  was  different 
by  a  hundred  shades  of  expression  from  that  which 
had  a  moment  ago  smiled  into  Escott's.  The  eye- 
brows knitted  themselves  fiercely  above  the  nose, 
the  lips  were  drawn  inward,  the  eyes  were  dull 
with  rage  and  hatred  of  the  most  horrible  kind. 
Now  and  then  the  lids  would  unconsciously  draw 
back  from  the  eyeballs,  so  that  the  glaring  expres- 
sion became  intensified ;  at  another  they  would 
droop  towards  the  lower  lid,  almost  curtaining  the 
scowling  dull  eyes.  And  there  he  sat  over  the 
table  muttering  angry  words  in  his  throat,  while 
members  of  the  club  came  laughing  into  the  room 
from  lunch,  and  guests  were  told  to  look  in  his 
direction — at  the  poet  Oliver  Bolt. 

The  result  of  Oliver  Bolt's  meditation  on  the 
news  he  had  received  from  Escott  was  a  letter  to 
Mrs.  Whittle — a  long  letter,  very  carefully  worded, 
and  more  frequently  underlined  than  was  pleasing 
to  Oliver's  fastidious  taste.  That  done  he  went 
with  Lord  Escott  to  a  commission  agent  in  St. 
James's  Street,  put  twenty  pounds  on  a  horse  that 
was  running  that  day,  at  four  o'clock  returned  to 
the  club,  and  spent  an  hour  or  two  in  writing 
more  letters.  He  was  writing  letters  when  Escott 
again  interrupted  him.  "Cursed  bad  luck,  Bolt," 


158  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

said  his  lordship ;  "our  crock  hobbled  in  fourth.'* 
Oliver  Bolt's  face  became  grayer,  but  he  laughed 
his  loud  deep  laugh.  "The  fortune  of  war,  my  dear 
marquess!  Are  you  going  to  Carpatti's  to-night? 
A  little  baccarat,  will  cheer  you  up." 

It  was  shortly  after  this  conversation  that  Han- 
nah received  a  letter  from  the  earl,  telling  her  to 
bring  Kyn  up  to  London,  and  make  arrangements 
to  stay  a  few  days  with  her  mother,  who  occupied 
rooms  in  the  neighborhood  of  Clapham.  This, 
Hannah  knew,  was  the  ringing  of  her  marriage 
bells.  "What  a  world  of  happiness  their  harmony 
foretells!"  she  exclaimed,  setting  her  teeth.  And 
then  she  sat  down  to  think. 

Spring  was  in  the  air.  Only  the  great  sturdy 
oaks  stretched  bare  limbs  to  the  tender  blue  sky. 
Virgin  green  hung  everywhere  else  in  a  merry  joy- 
ousness — over  the  river  that  ran  with  a  happy  song 
through  the  park,  over  the  flower-beds  gay  with 
crocus  and  snowdrops,  and  over  the  lush  meadows 
where  little  fleecy  lambs  trotted  by  their  mothers' 
sides  and  calves  curled  themselves  up  in  com- 
fortable peace.  The  wind  was  gentle  and  kind : 
the  song  of  birds  rose  from  every  copse  and  hedge- 
row. It  was  spring :  the  earth's  palingenesis.  Life 
seemed  good  and  the  world  very  pleasant.  The 
sorrowful  days  of  winter  were  past  and  over.  The 
season  of  introspection  was  rolled  away.  It  was 
now  a  time  of  holiday,  a  time  to  enjoy  God's  good 
gifts  and  be  thankful. 

Hannah,  looking  out  of  her  window  upon  Poyntz 


MISS   MERSEY   PACKS   HER  BOXES       159 

Park,  upon  the  green  trees  and  the  reviving  herb, 
felt  no  joy,  no  gladness.  She  pressed  her  hands 
upon  the  broad  window-sill,  and  with  set  teeth 
looked  out  upon  the  earth.  She  was  to  be  married. 
In  a  few  days  the  irrevocable  step  would  be  taken ; 
she  would  be  married  to  an  old  man  for  whom  she 
could  not  even  feel  indifference,  while  her  heart 
hungered  for  the  affection  of  another,  a  man  who 
seemed  to  her  the  mirror  of  chivalry,  the  flower 
of  bravery. 

"Now  what  is  it  I  feel  ?"  said  Hannah  to  herself. 
"I  am  not  happy,  but  to  abandon  the  earl  would 
make  me  more  than  unhappy.  I  want  the  pomp 
and  power  of  Kyn  Castle;  yes,  I  want  that  very 
badly.  Some  day — perhaps  very  soon — I  shall  be 
sole  mistress  of  all  its  glory,  and  all  its  wealth. 
My  lord  and  master  is  old ;  I  am  still  young.  Yes, 
I  may  reasonably  hope  some  day  to  be  sole  mistress 
of  Kyn  Castle.  But  before  that  day  arrives  I  shall 
have  to  endure  much.  My  castle  will  be  my 
prison;  Mrs.  Whittle  my  jailer;  the  earl  the  un- 
approachable governor.  I  shall  have  the  garden  to 
wander  in,  the  park  to  range  over — but  my  only 
companion  will  be  the  child.  The  child !  Some  day, 
perhaps,  my  own  children!"  She  shuddered  vio- 
lently. "Some  day,  perhaps,  my  own  children! 
How  I  shall  hate  them,  how  I  shall  loathe  them! 
My  children ;  his  children !" 

She  turned  away  from  the  window  and  began 
pacing  slowly  to  and  fro. 

"If  Dulverton  had  but  loved  me!"  she  cried. 


160  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

"There  would  have  been  no  tragedy  then,  no  ruin 
of  his  career.  And  I — oh,  God,  how  happy  I  should 
be!" 

She  went  to  a  writing-case,  unlocked  it,  and  drew 
out  a  folded  sheet  of  paper. 

'Lady  Mane  is  innocent,"  she  read;  "I  am  inno- 
cent." 

"When  I  read  that,"  she  muttered,  "I  feel  as  if 
my  love  for  him  had  turned  to  an  enduring  hate. 
But  the  love  always  returns.  And  yet,  the  reproof 
of  it!  There  may  be  a  threat  in  it,  too;  a  threat 
more  likely  to  affect  my  future  than  the  boast  of 
Lady  Mane's  real  lover.  I  wonder  if  that  is  a 
threat!  He  must  hate  me  very  badly.  When  he 
realizes  as  the  days  go  by  that  his  career  is  ruined 
that  hate  will  deepen,  it  will  lose  its  noble  repres- 
sion, it  will  seek  revenge.  And  he  is  to  be  my 
neighbor  at  Kyn;  our  estates  touch — his  and 
mine !" 

She  folded  the  paper,  replaced  it  in  the  case, 
and  then,  her  mind  craving  for  some  definite  action, 
she  began  to  make  preparations  for  packing. 

She  opened  her  trunk  and  took  out  one  by  one 
the  things  that  lay  there.  At  the  bottom  of  the 
trunk  she  came  upon  Richard  Brough's  poison. 

"Odd!"  she  exclaimed,  "that  this  little  bottle 
should  make  its  appearance  just  now.  I  had  for- 
gotten its  existence!  I  wonder  what  it  means  to 
me,  this  poison?  It  is,  in  some  mysterious  way, 
bound  up  with  my  life;  Fate  thrust  it  into  my 
hands,  as  he  has  thrust  every  card  I  have  so  far 


MISS   MERSEY   PACKS   HER  BOXES       161 

played  in  my  little  game  with  the  world.  Well,  I 
will  keep  this.  If  my  jailer  maddens  me,  or  the 
governor  of  the  prison  ill-treats  me,  or  Oliver  Bolt 
carries  out  his  threat,  or  Sir  Michael  declares  war 
upon  me,  here,  in  this  little  bottle,  I  have  a  way 
of  escape." 

She  laid  the  bottle  on  the  bed — on  the  very  spot 
where  but  over  a  year  ago  she  had  prayed  to  God 
for  the  capacity  to  desire  goodness — and  continued 
her  packing. 


XIII 

REVEALS  LORD  MANE  IN  A  RELIGIOUS  MOOD. 

IT  is  now  the  author's  pleasure  to  present  the 
reader  to  as  brisk  a  matron  as  ever  wore  flan- 
nel petticoat.  The  lady  is  Mrs.  Mersey,  relict  of 
the  late  Rev.  John  Stuart  Mersey,  sometime  curate 
of  St.  Augustine's,  Bethnal  Green.  Reader,  I 
beg  you  make  a  very  low  bow. 

Mrs.  Mersey  was  one  of  those  happy,  light- 
hearted  women  who,  when  they  write  letters  to 
friends  or  children,  always  convey  the  impression 
that  they  are  narrow-minded  Puritans.  The  reader 
probably  remembers  plenty  of  the  kind.  Most  of 
us  who  have  been  blest  with  merry,  brave-hearted 
mothers  can  remember  the  long  religious  exhorta- 
tions that  reached  us  at  school,  and  set  us  wonder- 
ing what  they  were  all  about,  and  whether  our  be- 
loved mother  was  ill.  The  only  time  when  such 
people  are  solemn  is  when  they  are  writing  letters 
or  when  they  are  at  their  prayers;  and,  be  sure, 
their  gaiety  is  none  the  worse  for  those  prayers 
any  more  than  their  prayers  are  worse  for  their 
gaiety. 

But  it  is  time  to  draw  our  lady's  picture.  Under 
five  feet,  and  broad  out  of  all  proportion,  Mrs. 
Mersey  was  what  one  could  call  a  chubby  little 

162 


LORD   MANE   IN   A    RELIGIOUS   MOOD 

woman.  Her  breast  was  deep,  her  lips  were  wide, 
her  arms  were  fat,  and  her  cheeks  were  plump. 
As  for  her  face,  one  never  thought  of  the  features 
when  resting  one's  eyes  there — resting  the  eyes 
there,  mark  you.  For  to  look  into  that  beaming, 
good-natured  face  was,  of  very  truth,  a  rest  for  the 
mind.  One  felt  better  for  looking,  certainly  hap- 
pier. One  liked  the  merriment  in  the  little  round 
brown  eyes ;  one  liked,  too,  the  plump  cheeks 
puckered  by  laughter;  the  lips  that  parted  in  wide 
smiles  and  disclosed  pretty  pearly  teeth  that  seemed 
to  be  laughing  too;  and,  perhaps  as  well  as  any- 
thing else,  one  liked  the  jolly  double  chin  that 
gave  the  little  woman  such  a  comfortable,  motherly 
and  reposeful  look. 

Hannah  broke  the  news  to  Mrs.  Mersey  on  the 
afternoon  after  her  arrival  in  London.  Kyn  was 
down  with  the  landlady  telling  her  about  the  fairies 
at  the  castle,  and  Mrs.  Mersey  was  reclining  in  a 
very  upright  fashion  on  the  straight-backed  horse- 
hair sofa,  with  her  funny  little  legs  stuck  straight 
out,  her  feet  full  twenty  inches  short  of  the  end. 
Hannah  leaned  against  the  mantelpiece. 

"Have  you  heard  any  rumors  about  Lord  Mane, 
mother?"  she  began. 

"Heaven  bless  the  child !"  cried  Mrs.  Mersey, 
"but  who  is  to  tell  me  all  the  gossip  about  noble- 
men? Until  you  went  to  live  with  that  wicked, 
shameful,  poor  dear  of  a  countess  I  don't  think 
name  of  peer  or  peeress  ever  crossed  my  lips." 

"Well,    mother,    I've   got  something   interesting 


164  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

to  tell  you  about  Lord  Mane,"  she  said  very 
quietly. 

Mrs.  Mersey  brought  her  feet  with  a  flop  to  the 
ground,  sat  on  the  extreme  edge  of  the  sofa,  and 
pointed  a  finger  at  her  daughter.  "You  don't  mean 
to  tell  me,"  she  said,  "that  he  wants  you  to  marry 
him?" 

Hannah  nodded. 

"Well !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Mersey,  getting  on  her 
feet  and  walking  to  Hannah,  "if  this  isn't  the  most 
extraordinary  thing  that  ever  happened  !"  She  said 
this  in  a  grandly  impressive  manner,  as  if  Noah's 
escape  in  the  ark,  the  building  of  the  Pyramids, 
and  the  growth  of  the  British  Empire,  were  as 
nothing  in  comparison  with  her  daughter's  intelli- 
gence. "And  I  had  an  idea  it  might  happen.  Tell 
me,"  she  went  on,  "how  it  happened,  and  what  he's 
like,  and  when  it's  to  be?" 

"He's  as  ugly  as  a  fox,  to  begin  with,"  said  Han- 
nah. 

"Well,  my  dear,  you  can't  expect  good  looks  to 
go  with  a  coronet.  We  must  be  grateful  for  what 
we  get.  But,  Hannah — is  it,  is  it  really  true?" 

Hannah  nodded. 

"I  never  did!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Mersey.  "To 
think  that  you,  standing  there  in  that  shabby  brown 
frock,  without  a  diamond  or  ring  from  your  bun  to 
the  foot  of  your  cotton  stocking,  should  be,  to  all 
intents  and  purposes,  a  countess !  A  countess !" 

Hannah  smiled.  "The  worst  of  it  is,"  she  said, 
"I  can't  make  up  my  mind  whether  I  want  to  be  a 


LORD   MANE   IN   A    RELIGIOUS   MOOD   165 

countess  or  not.  Tell  me,  mother,  what  would  you 
do?" 

"Do?"  cried  Mrs.  Mersey;  "do?  Why,  I'd  marry 
an  earl  if  he  hadn't  an  eye  in  his  head  or  a  penny 
in  the  bank.  It  would  be  tempting  Providence  to 
refuse.  Refuse !  Why,  doesn't  the  very  idea  of  re- 
fusing an  earl  strike  you  as  comical?"  She  burst 
out  laughing.  "It's  like  a  poor  wretched  sinner 
being  offered  heaven  and  saying  he'd  rather  not." 

"Wait  till  you  see  him,"  said  Hannah.  "He's 
old,  he's  ugly,  he's  mean,  he's  little,  he's " 

"He's  an  earl,  my  dear !"  put  in  the  mother ;  "and 
a  nobleman  can  afford  to  be  anything  he  likes.  If 
he's  old,  so  was  Methuselah;  if  he's  little,  so  was 
Napoleon  Bonaparte ;  if  he's  ugly,  so  was  Caliban. 
That's  nothing  to  do  with  it.  The  thing  is,  he's  an 
earl,  you're  a  governess,  and  it's  a  chance  you'll 
never  get  again  if  you  live  to  be  a  thousand  and 
one." 

Mrs.  Mersey's  eloquence  was  interrupted  by  the 
opening  of  the  door.  Mother  and  daughter,  stand- 
ing by  the  fireplace,  turned  hastily  around.  It  was 
Kyn  who  entered  the  room  first;  after  him  came 
the  earl. 

"Here's  papa,"  said  Kyn. 

"Well,  Hannah!"  cried  Mrs.  Mersey,  almost  in 
the  same  breath,  "you  didn't  exaggerate!" 

"Eh?"  said  the  earl. 

Mrs.  Mersey,  whose  face  was  now  flushed,  and 
whose  eyes  were  shining,  met  the  old  man  with  a 


1 66  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

frank,  open  expression,  and  extended  her  hand  with 
all  the  goodwill  in  the  world. 

"My  daughter  was  just  saying  that  of  all  the 
kind-hearted-looking  men  in  the  world  your  lord- 
ship was  the  first,  the  very  first;  and  now  let  me 
welcome  you  to  these  rooms.  I'm  proud  to  see 
you,  my  lord,"  she  continued,  giving  him  her  fat 
hand.  "I'm  not  going  to  pretend  that  I  have  earls 
and  chamberlains  and  sheriffs  calling  here  every 
day  in  the  week.  You're  the  first  nobleman  I've 
ever  seen,  certainly  the  very  first  whose  hand  I've 
had  the  presumption  to  touch,  and  I'm  as  proud 
as  a  peacock  to  entertain  you,  that  I  am!" 

"You  don't  look  like  a  peacock,  but  it's  very  kind 
of  you,"  said  his  lordship ;  "very  kind  of  you  in- 
deed to  feel  like  one.  And  now,  perhaps,  you  will 
allow  me  to  kiss  your  daughter.  She  and  I  are 
going  to  get  married;  ain't  that  funny,  now?" 

He  disengaged  his  hand  from  Mrs.  Mersey's 
grasp,  and  opened  his  arms  to  Hannah.  "Hug 
me!"  he  said.  "No,  no,  not  like  that;  a  good 
squeeze-the-breath-out-of-you  hug.  One  wants  it, 
livin'  in  this  damned  city.  I  feel  as  if  I  hadn't  a 
frien'  in  the  worl'.  I'm  homesick,  ma'am,"  he  said, 
turning  to  the  smiling  Mrs.  Mersey,  "an'  when  a 
man's  homesick  he  wants  as  much  coddlin'  as  a 
colt  with  the  strangles." 

Mrs.  Mersey  was  surprised  out  of  her  senses  by 
the  sudden  change  in  Hannah's  manner.  In  place 
of  the  sullen  indifference  of  a  minute  ago  there 
now  shone  in  the  girl's  face  the  very  radiance  of 


LORD   MANE   IN    A    RELIGIOUS   MOOD    167 

happiness.  She  actually  put  her  two  hands  to  the 
earl's  cheeks,  tilted  up  his  face,  and  kissed  him, 
with  a  little  cooing  laugh,  on  the  tip  of  his  pointed 
red  nose.  "He  shan't  be  homesick  any  longer,"  she 
murmured;  "he  shall  be  petted  and  fussed  over; 
he  shall  sit  in  this  horrid,  ugly  armchair,  put  his 
pretty  little  varnished  boots  on  this  plum-pudding 
footstool,  and  tea  and  buttered  toast  shall  be  served 
to  him  in  lodging-house  china!" 

"Ain't  she  a  little  bird?"  chuckled  his  lordship, 
winking  at  Mrs.  Mersey.  "Why,  if  the  late  Coun- 
tess of  Mane  had  played  the  fool  with  me  like  that 
once  every  six  months,  she  might  be  Countess  of 
Mane  still." 

"Don't  talk  about  her!"  murmured  Hannah. 

"Not  talk  about  my  widow — my  late  lamented ! 
Now,  that's  unreasonable.  Ain't  it  unreasonable, 
Mrs.  Mersey?  And  now,  where's  the  tea  an'  but- 
tered toast?" 

Tea  was  ordered,  and  the  party  appeared  to  be  in 
a  very  jovial  state  of  mind. 

"It's  done  you  good,  my  lord,  coming  down 
here,"  said  Mrs.  Mersey.  "You  look  a  different 
man  altogether.  You  want  company,  I  can  see, 
and  it's  in  big  places  like  London,  more  than  any- 
where else,  that  you  feel  the  need  of  human  so- 
ciety." 

"I  feel,"  said  my  lord,  "like  a  boy.  There,  that's 
the  fac',  ma'am ;  I  feel  like  a  boy." 

"And  you  look  years  younger  than  when  you 
first  came  in  through  that  door!"  cried  Mrs.  Mer- 


168  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

sey.  "A  man  with  a  good  heart  like  yours — to 
think  of  me  addressing  a  nobleman  like  this!  but 
say  it  I  must  and  will — a  man  with  a  big,  kind  heart 
like  yours  wants  a  woman  to  fuss  round  him,  and 
in  Hannah  you've  got  the  very  girl  to  make  you 
feel  a  boy  for  the  rest  of  your  born  days." 

"She's  a  little  bird,  is  the  countess,"  chuckled  the 
earl.  "Fancy  her  being  Countess  of  Mane,  now! 
Damme,  if  it  isn't  a  good  joke!" 

Hannah  laughed  gaily. 

"Well,  I  don't  see  where  the  joke  comes  in/* 
said  Mrs.  Mersey  stoutly.  "If  you  want  a  true 
woman,  a  pure  woman,  an  upright  woman,  a  Chris- 
tian, God-fearing  woman,  you've  got  her  in  my 
husband's  daughter.  And  if  that's  a  joke,  I'm  a 
Chinese  mandarin  on  a  teapot.  Not  but  that  I'm 
fully  conscious  of  the  honor.  No  one  is  prouder 
than  I  of  the  British  aristocracy;  and  to  see  you 
here,  and  to  keep  on  repeating  to  myself:  He's 
one  of  the  peerage,  and  can  sit  in  the  House  of 
Lords,  and  we  pray  for  him  twice  every  Sunday 
in  every  church  in  England — gives  me,  and  I'm  not 
ashamed  to  own  it,  a  feeling  of  pride  that  I  wouldn't 
exchange  for  a  new  bonnet." 

The  earl  sniggered.  "Damn  me,"  he  said,  "if  you 
aren't  an  honest  woman!" 

At  this  point  tea  was  brought  in,  and  the  entire 
tray  nearly  came  to  grief  ere  it  found  refuge  on  the 
table,  owing  to  the  landlady's  extreme  agitation  at 
being  in  the  same  room  with  a  nobleman.  Mrs. 
Mersey  presided  over  the  cups.  Kyn  sat  at  the 


LORD   MANE   IN   A   RELIGIOUS   MOOD    169 

table  by  her  side;  and,  while  Lord  Mane  leaned 
back  in  the  armchair,  Hannah,  coiled  up  on  the 
ground  at  his  feet,  handed  him  the  dishes  from  the 
table. 

"So  my  Hannah's  a  religious  woman,  is  she?" 
squeaked  the  earl. 

"I  can  answer  for  that,"  answered  Mrs.  Mersey. 

"Can  you,  now?"  said  his  lordship. 

"She's  her  father's  daughter — as  like  him  in  face 
as  one  toothbrush  is  like  another.  He  was  a  poet 
and  musician,  as  well  as  a  clergyman,  and  roman- 
tic to  the  tips  of  his  boots.  He  went  down  to  the 
East  End  of  London,  my  lord,  because  he  felt  it 
was  the  most  difficult  work  he  could  get.  He  gave 
away  our  few  shillings  to  the  poor,  lived  like  a 
hermit,  and  died  broken-hearted  before  he  was 
forty.  If  ever  there  was  a  Christian  martyr  John 
Stuart  Mersey  was  one." 

"You're  gettin'  depressin',"  complained  his  lord- 
ship. "I  don't  want  to  be  depressed ;  I  want  to  be 
cheered  up.  Can't  you  talk  about  religion  without 
gettin'  dismal?" 

"Ah!  there  you  have  it!"  cried  the  good  lady, 
smiling.  "That's  what  /  always  say,  why  on  earth 
be  miserable  when  you're  talking  about  religion? 
Laughter  is  part  of  life,  merriment  is  part  of  life,  and 
religion  is  part  of  life.  You  might  as  well  try  to 
separate  the  poles,  or  twins,  or  a  pair  of  stays." 

"Tell  me  about  Hannah's  religion !"  said  the  earl. 

"She  can  speak  for  herself,"  Mrs.  Mersey  an- 


170  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

swered.  "Tell  him,  Hannah,  what  I  taught  you 
from  the  time  you  first  began  to  talk." 

Hannah  turned  round  and  looked  up  into  her 
lord's  face.  She  rested  one  elbow  on  his  knee,  and 
propped  her  face  in  the  cup  of  her  hand.  "Shall 
I  tell  you?"  she  asked  in  her  beautiful  voice. 

"Yes,"  said  my  lord,  with  his  mouth  full  of  but- 
tered toast. 

"I  was  taught  to  have  implicit  faith  in  Provi- 
dence ;  never  to  worry  about  the  future ;  never  to 
complain  in  hours  of  trouble  and  distress.  I  was 
taught  to  pray  night  and  day,  to  go  to  church 
twice  on  Sundays,  to  read  my  Bible  in  the  morn- 
ing and  in  the  evening;  and  I  was  also  taught  that 
religion  was  a  matter  of  the  heart,  that  the  brain 
did  not  enter  into  it  at  all,  and  that  all  forms  and 
ceremonies,  which  took  one's  thought  from  the  in- 
wardness of  religion,  were — were " 

"Of  the  devil,"  said  Mrs.  Mersey.  "There,  my 
lord,"  she  exclaimed  triumphantly;  that  was  the 
training  we  gave  our  little  ewe  lamb.  And  now  let 
me  give  you  another  cup  of  tea.  Oh,  yes,  you  will ; 
there's  plenty  in  the  teapot,  and  I've  drained  off  the 
leaves,  so  you  won't  get  poisoned.  Come  along 
now ;  it  will  do  you  good." 

To  Hannah's  surprise  the  earl  gave  way.  "I'll 
tell  you,"  he  said,  "what  I've  been  thinkin'.  Only 
one  lump  of  sugar,  ma'am;  the  last  cup  had  two, 
an'  it  made  me  feel  sick.  I've  been  thinkin',  while 
I've  been  sittin'  here,  that  I  haven't  felt  so  happy 
for  years " 


LORD    MANE   IN    A    RELIGIOUS    MOOD    I/I 

"There  now!"  cried  Mrs.  Mersey,  bringing  the 
cup  to  his  lordship  with  a  radiant  face.  "There ! 
I  knew  exactly  how  it  would  be.  You've  been  a 
neglected  man  for  years,  and  your  heart's  crying 
out  for  love  and  sympathy  just  like  a  baby  waking 
out  of  its  sleep  and  wanting  its  bottle." 

"That  may  be  true,"  squeaked  the  earl,  "but, 
damme,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  interrup'.  If  I  haven't 
been  used  to  sympathy,  I  haven't  been  used  to 
interruption  either.  You  broke  in  just  when  I 
was  makin'  a  confession,  and  you  might  just  as 
well  try  an'  poach  an  egg  in  the  family  way  as 
interrup'  a  man  when  he's  talkin'  about  his  soul 
an'  his  heart  an'  all  that!" 

Hannah  raised  her  hand  and  patted  his  cheek. 
"He  shan't  be  interrupted  any  more,  bless  his  con- 
fessing little  heart!"  she  murmured. 

"My  lord,"  cried  Mrs.  Mersey,  "I  would  sooner 
eat  dry  bread  for  the  rest  of  my  days  than  give 
you  pain.  It  was  love  for  you  that  made  me  in- 
terrupt. The  joy  of  seeing  you  sitting  there  so 
happy  and  comfortable  with  my  own  flesh  and 
blood  leaning  so  familiarly  on  your  knee,  was  more 
than  my  old  heart  could  bear." 

The  earl  rubbed  his  nose  with  his  teaspoon  and 
winked  at  the  old  lady.  "All  right,"  he  said,  "I'm 
not  angry,  only  oblige  me  by  bitin'  your  tongue 
till  I've  finished."  Then  he  gave  Hannah  his  empty 
teacup,  dived  into  the  pocket  of  his  little  frock 
coat,  and  brought  forth  a  well-blackened  briar  pipe 
and  a  pouch  of  tobacco.  Leisurely  filling  his  pipe 


172  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

he  began  again :  "I  feel  happy ;  I  feel  a  better  man ; 
I  feel  religious.  Hannah,  give  me  a  match.  It's 
boyhood  again,  an'  damme,  I  like  it.  I  like  feelin' 
religious,  an'  I  don't  care  who  knows  it.  An'  now 
I'll  tell  you  somethin'.  It's  cost  me  a  pretty  penny, 
gettin'  rid  of  my  late  lamented,  a  pretty  penny,  an' 
no  mistake  about  it.  But  I  feel  religious  an'  be- 
nevolent, an'  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do.  We'll  get 
into  the  tramcar  an'  go  into  London,  an'  we'll  have 
a  nice  little  dinner  in  one  of  the  restaurants,  an' 
I'll  pay  the  bill,  damn  me  if  I  won't!  Now,  what 
do  you  think  of  that?" 

Mother  and  daughter  expressed  gratitude  and 
hurried  off  to  prepare  for  the  jaunt.  Lord  Mane, 
puffing  at  his  pipe,  turned  his  head  and  looked  at 
his  son. 

"Hello!"  he  said. 

"Hello!"  said  Kyn  softly. 

"Come  here,"  said  Lord  Mane.  Kyn  came  round 
the  table  and  stood  in  front  of  his  father. 

"How  do  you  like  Miss  Mersey?"  whispered  his 
lordship. 

"I  like  her  very  much." 

"More  than  your  mother,  don't  you,  eh?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  never  see  mother.  She's  al- 
ways doing  something  else." 

"An',  I  say,  Kyn,  old  boy,  how  do  you  like  the 
old  gell — you  know,  Hannah's  mother?  Is  she  al- 
ways cheerful,  eh?" 

"Yes,"  said  Kyn.  "I'm  very  fond  of  Mrs.  Mer- 
sey. She's  so  happy,  and  she  makes  me  laugh." 


LORD   MANE   IN   A    RELIGIOUS   MOOD   173 

"She's  the  right  sort,  eh?" 

"Yes,"  said  Kyn. 

"An',  Kyn,  does  the  old  gell  have  prayers  here?" 

The  boy  nodded. 

"What !  night  an'  mornin'  too  ?" 

"Yes;  long  in  the  mornings  and  short  in  the 
evenings." 

"She  does,  does  she  !"  chuckled  the  old  man  with 
great  satisfaction.  Then  he  studied  his  son  in- 
tently. "An'  how's  old  Kyn  ?"  he  exclaimed  cheer- 
fully. "You  ain't  lookin'  tip-top,  old  man;  you 
don't  grow  much  either,  do  you?  Are  you  happy, 
old  fellow?" 

"Yes,  father,  I  think  so.  I  like  the  castle  best; 
I  shall  be  glad  to  get  back." 

Lord  Mane  screwed  his  little  hand  into  the  pocket 
of  his  fawn-colored  trousers  and  pulled  out  a  hand- 
ful of  silver.  "Look  here,  Kyn,"  he  said,  "there's 
a  two-bob  piece  for  you." 

Kyn  looked  at  the  money  for  a  minute,  and  then 
he  raised  his  eyes  to  his  father's.  "What's  it  for?" 
he  said. 


XIV 

IN   WHICH   LORD    MAKERS   RELIGIOUS    MOOD  RECEIVES 
A  VIOLENT  CHECK 

WHEN  Mrs.  Mersey  and  her  daughter  re- 
entered  the  sitting-room  both  were  smil- 
ing happily,  evidently  in  the  very  highest  spirits. 
Hannah  was  almost  sincerely  happy.  During  the 
operation  of  hat-pinning  and  jacket-buttoning  Mrs. 
Mersey  had  given  the  countess-elect  her  idea  of  the 
bridegroom.  "Ugly !"  she  exclaimed ;  "why's  he's 
a  perfect  little  gem  !  The  dearest  little  soul  that  ever 
wore  human  flesh.  I'd  marry  that  man  if  he  wasn't 
an  earl,  if  he  hadn't  got  a  halfpenny  to  bless  him- 
self with.  I'd  marry  him  if  he  was  a  curate  in  the 
slums  or  a  bank  clerk  on  a  stool,  or  a  'bus  conductor 
punching  tickets.  He's  a  little  gem.  Mark  my 
words,  that  man's  got  the  noblest  of  hearts ;  prop- 
erly treated  he'll  make  a  perfect  husband.  Uglyt 
Mean !  Why,  it's  a  chance  that  the  Queen  of  Sheba 
and  Cleopatra  and  Miss  Burdett-Coutts  would  have 
given  their  eyes  for !" 

So  Hannah  began  to  think  better  of  her  lord,  and 
the  three  sallied  forth  on  their  festive  outing  with 
merry  words  and  rippling  laughter.  In  the  tram 
they  attracted  considerable  attention.  Lord  Mane 
squeaked  and  chuckled  and  swore;  Mrs.  Mersey 
174 


A  VIOLENT  SHOCK  175 

laughed  and  chatted  from  the  moment  of  entering 
the  car  to  the  end  of  the  journey,  and  Hannah  smiled 
so  sweetly  into  the  earl's  eyes,  and  spoke  so  music- 
ally, that  all  the  young  blades  in  the  tram,  try  as  they 
would,  could  not  take  their  eyes  from  her  face. 

Lord  Mane  walked  the  ladies  over  Westminster 
Bridge,  led  them  up  Whitehall,  and  then,  after 
nearly  being  run  over  in  Trafalgar  Square,  found 
his  way  into  the  Strand.  At  the  largest  restaurant 
he  paused. 

"Too  much  gilt,  eh  ?  Bad  cookin'  an'  high  prices. 
What  d'ye  think?" 

Mrs.  Mersey  announced  that  it  looked  a  very  re- 
spectable place,  and  Hannah  said  she  thought  the 
cooking  would  be  as  good  there  as  anywhere  else. 
So,  with  no  little  misgiving  on  the  earl's  part,  they 
entered. 

The  long,  brightly  lighted  rooms  were  well  filled. 
In  the  first  men  and  women  were  dining  in  evening 
dress  at  pretty  round  tables  with  shaded  candles. 
Beyond  this  room,  and  up  a  few  steps,  was  a  plainer 
company,  sitting  in  workaday  clothes  over  simpler 
fare.  Lord  Mane  made  his  way  in  that  direction. 
Hannah  looked  back  over  her  shoulder  at  the  women 
in  eveni.ig  dress  as  she  climbed  the  two  or  three 
stairs  to  the  hall  beyond.  She  envied  them  their  fine 
clothes,  their  grand  dinners,  the  attention  they  re- 
ceived from  the  attendants. 

In  the  long  hall,  amid  the  clatter  of  plates,  the 
noisy  rushing  hither  and  thither  of  panting  waiters, 
the  little  earl,  with  his  hat  tilted  over  his  eyes,  slowly 


176  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

led  his  two  ladies,  walking  up  and  down  till  he  found 
a  spare  table.  Then  the  three  seated  themselves. 
Next  to  them  a  German  in  a  gray  suit  was  reading 
a  paper  and  smoking  a  strong  cigar.  In  front  of 
them  three  young  clerks,  with  their  hats  on,  were 
puffing  at  bulldog  pipes  and  laughing  noisily.  The 
earl  and  his  party  drew  many  eyes. 

"Pretty  daughter  they've  got,"  said  one. 

"Pretty  because  she  isn't  like  either  of  them," 
laughed  another. 

"He's  the  funniest  little  devil  I  ever  saw;  but 
isn't  the  girl  fond  of  him?" 

"Rich,  I  expect,  and  she's  wheedling  him.  Trust 
a  daughter  for  getting  money  where  the  mother 
fails!" 

In  the  meantime  our  party  was  preparing  to  enjoy 
itself.  With  his  hat  by  his  side,  his  arms  resting 
on  the  table,  the  earl  beamed  with  great  satisfaction 
at  Mrs.  Mersey,  and  blinked  so  continuously  that 
the  good  lady  imagined  he  must  suffer  from  paraly- 
sis. 

"Now  this  is  very  nice,  isn't  it?"  he  said.  "Makes 
me  feel  how  pleasant  it  is  to  save  money  so  that  you 
can  come  out  and  spend  it  on  a  tip-top  entertain- 
ment like  this.  Ton  me  honor,  ma'am,  I  don't  exag- 
gerate when  I  say  I  haven't  been  so  happy  since  I 
got  that  decree  nisi!" 

A  waiter,  eying  the  little  man  with  sovereign 
contempt,  and  then  looking  doubtfully  at  Hannah, 
presented  a  menu.  The  earl  took  it,  glanced  at  it, 
and  pitched  it  down. 


A  VIOLENT  SHOCK  177 

"Three  chops,"  he  said. 

"Any  bodadoes?"  said  the  waiter. 

"Humph !"  said  his  lordship,  picking  up  the  list ; 
"potatoes,  potatoes,  where  are  they,  now?  Oh, 
potatoes,  threepence;  three  threes  are  nine.  Yes,  I 
suppose,  potatoes  for  three." 

"Any  cabbage?"  demanded  the  waiter. 

"No,  no  cabbage;  but  just  bring  me  a  napkin." 

"Serviette?" 

"No !"  cried  his  lordship  angrily,  "not  a  serviette, 
but  a  napkin.  Damme,  why  can't  you  give  an  honest 
thing  an  English  name  ?  Get  me  a  napkin !" 

The  waiter  swallowed  his  anger,  and  shot  off  to- 
wards the  kitchen.  The  earl  chuckled. 

"Now,  my  dear  ladies,  let  us  prepare  to  enjoy 
ourselves.  I  am  in  a  religious  mood,  and  there  are 
one  or  two  things  in  my  mind  I  feel  disposed  to  de- 
liver myself  of.  I'm  like  a  man  who's  been  locked 
up  for  years,  and  only  just  come  into  the  fresh  air 
and  the  sunshine.  You,  ma'am,  are  the  sunshine; 
Hannah's  the  fresh  air.  Hannah  smells  nice.  I 
don't  know  what  it  is,  but  she  always  puts  me  in 
mind  of  a  turnip  field — you  know  that  smell,  a  rich, 
earthy,  appetizin'  kind  of  smell.  As  I  was  sayin', 
I'm  religious.  I  want  to  enjoy  the  world  and  the 
society  of  true  friends.  I  like  you,  ma'am,  because 
you're  a  good  woman  an',  so  far  as  I  can  see,  honest. 
I  like  Hannah  because  I'm  goin'  to  get  married  to 
the  pretty  dark  bird !  An'  now  for  the  ideas  in  my 
mind.  First  of  all,  ma'am,  have  you  an  engagement 
for  to-morrow  ?" 


178  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

"An  engagement!"  laughed  Mrs.  Mersey.  "My 
dear  lord,  I  don't  go  into  society  at  all.  I'm  as  free 
of  my  time  as  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  The 
only  call  I  have  on  it  is  my  district." 

"Distric'!  what's  that?" 

"I'm  a  visitor ;  go  and  see  poor  people,  cheer  'em 
up,  give  'em  advice,  and  sometimes  coal  tickets  and 
bread  tickets  and  soup  tickets." 

This  announcement  appeared  to  give  the  earl  ex- 
traordinary pleasure. 

"You're  a  visitor,  are  you?"  he  said,  chuckling. 
"A  kind  of  Good  Samaritan  in  petticoats !  There's 
no  mistake  about  you  bein'  a  religious  woman; 
you're  a  real  out-and-out  Christian,  an'  no  damn 
nonsense  about  lookin'  glum  and  squintin'  up  your 
eyes  to  heaven.  Ah !  you're  the  kind  of  woman  I 
like.  I  can  talk  to  you  about  my  soul  just  as  if  I 
was  discussin'  a  chop  or  a  hay  crop  or  anything  real 
and  everyday,  can't  I,  now  ?" 

Mrs.  Mersey  was  overcome  with  delight.  The 
honor  of  discussing  a  nobleman's  soul  as  if  it  were 
a  chop! 

"Well,  now,  listen.  I  feel  as  if  I've  neglected 
Kyn,  same  as  the  late  lamented  neglected  me.  I'm 
gettin'  fond  of  that  boy ;  if  I  don't  take  care,  I  shall 
end  in  lovin'  him.  You  see,  ma'am,  I'm  a  new  man. 
I'm  a  boy  again.  I'm  full  of  enthusiasm  and  benevo- 
lence and  youthful  tolerance!"  He  chuckled,  and 
rubbed  his  hands  together.  "So  to-morrow  I  pro- 
pose to  pop  down  to  Clapham,  and  take  you  all  off, 


A  VIOLENT  SHOCK  179 

Kyn  and  all,  to  the  Zoo !  What  d'ye  think  of  that, 
now?" 

Mrs.  Mersey  declared  that  it  was  very  handsome 
of  his  lordship,  and  Hannah  expressed  girlish  de- 
light at  the  prospect,  putting  the  earl  a  hundred 
questions  as  to  the  animals  she  should  see  there.  In 
the  midst  of  this  torrent  of  questions  the  waiter  ap- 
peared with  the  wine  list. 

"What's  this?"  demanded  Lord  Mane. 

"De  vine  leest,"  said  the  waiter. 

"Oh,  it's  a  wine  list,  is  it?  I  wonder  you  don't 
call  the  damn  thing  Carte  du  Vins.  It's  greasy 
enough." 

"Do  you  vish  to  order  ?"  asked  the  waiter. 

"Large  brandy  and  soda  for  me.  Water  for  the 
ladies."  Then  he  turned  to  Mrs.  Mersey.  "That's 
one  thing  I  like  about  religious  women,  they  don't 
drink  wine.  And  now  about  my  second  proposal. 
Keep  cool  while  I  put  it.  How  would  you  like, 
ma'am,  to  come  an'  live  with  your  daughter,  the 
countess,  down  at  Kyn  Castle?" 

He  rubbed  his  long  fingers  across  his  chin  and 
leered  triumphantly. 

"Like  it!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Mersey.  "Why  it's 
like  stepping  suddenly  into  heaven.  My  dear  lord, 
my  very  dear  lord " 

"Hush,  ma'am !"  whispered  the  earl.  "I  don't  like 
bein'  lorded  in  public." 

"Well,  then,  my  dear  man,  you've  made  a  pro- 
posal that  I  accept  with  my  heart  in  my  mouth.  It's 
what  I  should  like  more  than  anything  else  in  the 


180  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

world,  and  I  promise  you  that  directly  you  get  tired 
of  your  old  mother-in-law  she'll  pack  up  her  boxes 
and  go  back  to  her  lodgings  without  a  word  of  re- 
proach !" 

The  earl  chuckled,  well  pleased.  Hannah's  joy, 
perhaps,  was  the  greatest  of  the  three.  With  her 
mother  in  the  castle  she  would  feel  less  fearful  of 
Mrs.  Whittle ;  she  would  always  have  some  one  by 
her  on  whose  devotion  she  could  place  implicit  re- 
liance. So  she  smiled  gratitude  into  the  earl's  face, 
stretched  over  the  table  and  laid  a  hand  upon  her 
mother's  arm,  and  said  endless  pretty  things  about 
the  jolly  life  awaiting  them  all  in  the  glorious  land 
of  Kyn. 

This  put  Lord  Mane  into  the  best  of  good  tem- 
pers, and  he  ordered  himself  another  large  brandy 
and  soda.  After  that  was  drunk,  his  heart  expand- 
ing under  the  influence  of  the  genial  spirit  and  the 
beaming  faces  of  Mrs.  and  Miss  Mersey,  the  jolly 
little  gentleman  proposed  that  they  should  all  go 
to  a  theater. 

"Do  you  mind  a  music-hall,  ma'am?"  he  said  to 
Mrs.  Mersey,  pushing  the  waiter  three  coppers  from 
among  his  change  and  then  proceeding  to  fill  his 
pipe.  Mrs.  Mersey  declared  that  with  such  a  cham- 
pion as  his  lordship  she  would  go  to  a  French  thea- 
ter or  the  Chamber  of  Horrors.  Hannah  was  quite 
certain  it  would  be  delightful  to  go  to  a  music-hall, 
and  suggested  that  they  should  start  at  once.  Puf- 
fing at  his  pipe,  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  his  big  um- 
brella under  his  arm,  Lord  Mane  led  the  way 


A  VIOLENT  SHOCK  l8l 

through  the  crowded  restaurant,  out  into  the  roar- 
ing streets. 

"We'll  walk,"  he  said.  "Walkin'  's  good  for  the 
digestion.  And  it'll  give  me  time  to  smoke  my 
pipe."  He  conducted  his  party  through  many  nar- 
row dark  streets  and  presently  brouglu  them  into 
the  glare  and  racket  of  Leicester  Square. 

They  entered  the  red-carpeted  corridor  of  a  glit- 
tering theater,  and  while  Lord  Mane  joined  the 
queue  at  the  box-office,  Hannah  at  her  mother's  side 
watched  the  people  arrive.  Perhaps,  amid  so  many 
grand-looking  people,  all  so  splendidly  dressed,  all 
so  radiantly  happy,  she  felt  just  a  little  ashamed  of 
the  earl,  who  appearance  was  causing  a  good  deal  of 
amusement  to  two  gigantic  attendants  arrayed  in 
imposing  uniforms.  She  began  again  her  old  reflec- 
tions, wondering  whether,  after  all,  she  was  not 
murdering  her  own  happiness  by  gratifying  her 
vanity.  So  many  of  the  good-looking,  well-dressed 
young  fellows  with  coats  over  their  arms  looked  ad- 
miringly at  her  as  they  entered  the  theater  laughing 
and  chatting.  She  felt  it  might  possibly  be  nicer  to 
have  one  of  these  fresh-complexioned,  clean-limbed 
youths  for  a  husband,  however  poor  he  might  be, 
than  to  go  through  life  side  by  side  with  an  ugly 
old  man  for  whom  the  love  of  a  young  girl  was 
impossible. 

As  she  turned  these  thoughts  over  in  her  mind  a 
pair  of  horses  pulled  up  outside  the  music-hall,  and 
one  of  the  mighty  attendants  sprang  to  the  door  of 
the  brougham  before  even  the  groom  could  reach 


182  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

it.  Two  gentlemen  got  out.  The  first,  who  stopped 
and  gave  his  orders  to  the  groom,  was  young  and 
good-looking,  and  as  he  came  nearer  Hannah  felt 
sure  that  she  had  seen  him  somewhere  before.  The 

other She  shuddered  as  she  caught  sight  of 

that  face.  It  was  Oliver  Bolt. 

Fortunately  for  Hannah  the  earl  at  this  very  mo- 
ment called  the  ladies  to  his  side.  "Five  bob  each !" 
he  exclaimed;  "and  we  shall  have  to  stand  all  the 
damned  time!"  He  was  much  upset  at  having  to 
pay  so  much  money,  and  became  rather  less  talka- 
tive. They  walked  forward  into  the  lounge,  and 
finding  a  place  to  lean  against,  turned  their  faces  to 
the  stage.  The  earl  cheered  up  a  little  when  the 
band  thundered  rackety  music,  when  the  gay-look- 
ing curtain  went  slowly  up,  and  when  three  young 
ladies  in  costumes  that  made  Mrs.  Mersey  exclaim, 
"Well,  to  be  sure!"  tripped  coquettishly,  as  if  the 
boards  struck  cold  to  their  little  feet,  before  the 
footlights.  The  audience  began  to  clap  their  hands, 
opera-glasses  went  up,  and  gentlemen  in  the  lounge 
criticized  the  three  young  ladies  in  a  very  amiable 
manner.  The  music  throbbed  through  the  theater, 
the  young  ladies  began  to  sing  and  ogle,  and  every- 
body settled  down  to  enjoy  himself  and  get  his 
money's  worth. 

"Not  much  religion  there,  eh  ?"  squeaked  the  earl, 
leaning  across  Hannah,  and  winking  at  Mrs.  Mer- 
sey. 

"Not  much  modesty,  certainly,"  sniffed  Mrs.  Mer- 
sey. "To  think  of  any  daughter  of  mine  standing 


A  VIOLENT  SHOCK  183 

before  a  lot  of  staring  men  and  women,  with  not  so 
much  as  a  kilt  on!  It's  worse  than  the  savages." 

"What  does  the  little  dark  bird  think,  eh?"  chuck- 
led his  lordship. 

"I  think  they  dance  very  nicely,"  said  Hannah, 
"but  I  can't  help  feeling  sorry  for  them."  She  was 
thinking  of  the  immortal  "Requiescat." 

"Oh,  you  think  they  dance  prettily,  do  you? 
iWell,  I'll  tell  you  somethin'.  I've  seen  the  late 
Countess  of  Mane  dance  like  that !" 

"In  tights !"  exclaimed  Hannah,  horrified. 

"No,  not  in  tights,  but  in  a  skirt  that  kicked  over 
her  ladyship's  head,  which  was  worse.  What  d'ye 
think  of  that  now  ?" 

Ere  Hannah  could  reply,  she  caught  Oliver  Bolt 
and  the  gentleman  who  had  driven  with  him  to  the 
theater  staring  at  her  over  the  earl's  head. 

"By  George,  it's  she !"  exclaimed  Oliver  in  a  voice 
loud  enough  for  the  earl  to  hear. 

"The  little  nightingale !"  cried  his  friend,  laughing 
as  an  amateur  actor  laughs  when  he  is  supposed  to 
be  very  dashing. 

Then  they  pushed  rudely  past  the  earl  and  forced 
themselves  beside  Hannah.  "My  dear  young  lady !" 
said  Bolt,  hardly  raising  his  hat,  "how  very  jolly  it 
is  to  meet  you  again!  You  remember,  of  course, 
Lord  Escort."  He  said  this  with  a  laugh  that  sug- 
gested Hannah  had  many  secret  reasons  for  remem- 
bering Escott,  and  turning  round  to  present  his 
friend,  caught  the  eye  of  Lord  Mane  glaring  at  him 
fiercely. 


1 84  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

"Hullo,  my  lord !"  said  Bolt  in  great  surprise,  his 
large  mouth  breaking  into  a  smile  that  disclosed  his 
strong  white  teeth.  "Why,  I  thought  the  little  night- 
ingale— our  pretty  little  governess,"  he  whispered, 
"was  all  by  herself!" 

Lord  Escott  was  talking  to  Hannah.  "Does  a  lady 
usually  come  to  music-halls  alone?"  demanded  the 
earl,  his  eyes  blinking  and  his  mouth  twitching. 

Oliver  bent  his  smiling  lips  to  the  earl's  ear. 
"Some  ladies!"  he  said,  and  playfully  tapped  his 
lordship's  arm. 

"Well,  she  ain't  one  of  them,"  squeaked  the  earl, 
"and,  damme,  I  don't  like  bein'  pawed !" 

"Oh,  she  isn't  one  of  them!"  exclaimed  Oliver, 
raising  his  eyebrows. 

"No,  damn  me  if  she  is !" 

Oliver  laughed,  a  quiet,  tolerant,  man-of-the- 
world  laugh.  "Oh,  I  see !"  he  said.  Then,  after  a 
pause,  he  added :  "There  is  one  thing  we  can  agree 
about,  at  any  rate,  my  lord — she's  as  clever  as  they 
make  'em,  and  deucedly  fetching.  Now,  isn't  she  ?" 

With  which  Parthian  arrow  Oliver  Bolt  was 
pleased  to  discontinue  his  campaign.  "Come  along, 
Escott,"  he  said,  and  bowing  with  a  very  meaning 
glance  at  Hannah,  and  linking  his  arm  in  Escott's, 
he  moved  away  in  his  grand,  dignified  fashion. 

The  earl  pressed  himself  close  to  Hannah.  "What 
do  you  know  of  those  blackguards?"  he  squeaked 
under  his  breath. 

"I  met  Mr.  Bolt  at  the  castle,  and  spoke  to  him 
once,"  said  Hannah  quietly.  "I  saw  Lord  Escott 


A  VIOLENT  SHOCK  185 

there,  but  never  exchanged  a  word  with  him.  So  I 
don't  know  very  much  about  either  of  them." 

The  earl  was  blinking  fiercely  into  her  eyes. 

"What  did  he  mean  by "  he  began,  and  then 

stopped.  "I'm  goin'  home,"  he  said.  "Come 
along !" 

"Going  home!"  cried  Mrs.  Mersey.  "Why,  the 
conjurer's  just  come  on !" 

"Conjurer  be  damned!"  cried  his  lordship.  "I'm 
goin'  home,  and  don't  you  bandy  words  with  me." 

As  they  walked  out  Mrs.  Mersey  touched  him  on 
the  arm.  "Something's  upset  you,"  she  said  firmly. 
"Oh,  yes,  don't  you  deny  it,  I  know  as  well  as  if 
you'd  flung  yourself  into  my  old  arms  and  cried  on 
my  breast  for  sympathy  and  comfort.  Now,  I'll  tell 
you  what  to  do.  Go  straight  home,  take  a  glass  of 
strong  whisky  and  water,  and  pop  right  into  bed." 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  chatter  so!"  growled  the 
earl.  "I  know  what's  the  matter  with  me,  an'  I 
know  what  to  take  for  it,  an'  I  don't  want  any 
damned  women  messin'  about  me." 

"Ah!  something  has  hurt  you  very  badly,"  said 
Mrs.  Mersey  confidently,  in  her  same  even  com- 
fortable voice,  as  they  stood  under  a  lamp-post.  "A 
man  with  a  heart  like  yours  doesn't  talk  like  that 
unless  he's  been  hit  very  hard — very  hard  indeed. 
No,  I  won't  interfere.  Great  griefs  like  that  are  best 
borne  in  silence.  But  you'll  come  to  me  for  comfort 
yet,  mark  my  words.  Good-night,  you  dear,  kind 
thing!"  she  exclaimed;  "we'll  find  our  way  home, 
and  you  go  straight  home  to  bed." 


186  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

Without  a  word  or  a  bow  of  any  kind  they  parted 
— the  earl  shuffling  back  to  his  great  town  house,  a 
lonely,  pathetic  little  figure:  Mrs.  Mersey  tucking 
Hannah's  arm  through  her  own  and  stepping  out 
manfully,  with  lifted  skirt,  to  the  twopenny  tram- 
car. 


XV 

CRISIS 

WE  will  follow  my  Lord  Mane — at  a  respect- 
ful distance — to  his  house  in  St.  James's 
Square.  As  Mrs.  Mersey  had  guessed,  the  old  gen- 
tleman was  badly  hit,  very  badly  hit.  The  motherly 
heart  of  the  matron  could  feel  that ;  but  for  the  life 
of  her  she  was  unable  to  hit  upon  the  cause  of  his 
sudden  explosion.  "Perhaps,"  she  said  to  Hannah, 
"he  was  thinking  of  his  late  lamented,  as  he  calls 
that  shameful  countess  of  his."  "Perhaps,"  said 
Hannah,  "Mr.  Bolt  told  him  something  that  upset 
him !"  And  Hannah  in  her  own  mind  began  to  won- 
der what  deep  game  that  loud-voiced  smiling  villain 
was  playing  so  cleverly  and  boldly.  All  she  knew 
was  that  he  was  playing  to  ruin  her.  It  was  dis- 
quieting knowledge,  and  Hannah  slept  very  badly 
that  night. 

But  we  have  allowed  Lord  Mane  to  get  on  ahead 
of  us.  Parting  from  Hannah  and  her  mother,  he 
shuffled  along,  his  hands  behind  his  back,  his  um- 
brella under  his  arm,  muttering  to  himself  as  he 
went,  so  that  people  turned  and  stared  after  him. 
He  crossed  the  Haymarket,  shuffled  on  past  Regent 
Street,  on  into  the  thronging  noisy  crowds  of  Picca- 
dilly. People  pushed  and  jostled  the  insignificant 

187 


188  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

little  man  as  he  threaded  his  way  through  their 
midst,  but  he  took  no  notice.  On  he  went,  with 
eyes  bent  on  the  ground,  his  thin  watery  lips  twitch- 
ing ceaselessly  as  he  muttered  to  himself.  'Buses 
crawled  slowly  by,  the  conductors  calling  for  fares ; 
cabs  swung  past;  vans  rattled  noisily  down  the 
street  He  turned  off  at  the  passage  beside  St. 
James's  Church,  and  went  shuffling  down  that  nar- 
row, dark  alley  in  the  same  slow  preoccupied  man- 
ner, his  hands  behind  his  back,  his  head  bent,  his 
eyes  on  the  pavement.  In  this  way  he  reached  his 
house,  the  house  that  Lady  Mane  had  loved  to  fill 
with  "smart"  London,  and,  letting  himself  in  with 
his  latchkey,  shuffled  through  the  hall  to  the  room 
at  the  back  which  he  had  made  his  own  during  the 
divorce  proceedings.  He  rang  the  bell.  Then,  put- 
ting down  his  hat  and  umbrella,  he  walked  to  the 
table  in  the  window-recess  and  looked  at  the  letters 
lying  there ;  three  letters,  half  a  dozen  circulars,  and 
a  packet.  The  door  opened,  and  our  old  acquain- 
tance, William  Budge,  made  his  appearance. 

"Did  you  ring,  my  lord  ?" 

"Whisky." 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  said  William,  taking  his  master's 
hat  and  umbrella. 

"See  the  decanter's  full." 

"Yes,  my  lord."  And  with  a  quiet  wink  all  to 
himself,  William  departed.  When  he  returned  Lord 
Mane  was  sitting  before  his  big  writing-table,  beat- 
ing the  blotting-pad  with  a  pen.  William  put  the 
whisky  at  his  side.  "Anything  else,  my  lord  ?"  Lord 


CRISIS  189 

Mane  did  not  answer.  William  raised  polite  eye- 
brows, waited  deferential  minutes  for  his  lordship 
to  think  out  a  reply,  and  then,  getting  none,  quietly 
withdrew. 

Lord  Mane  sat  at  the  table  beating  the  blotting- 
pad  long  after  the  door  had  shut.  His  eyes  were 
puckered,  his  lips  were  thrust  forward;  every  now 
and  then  he  would  draw  in  his  breath  sharply  as  if 
in  pain ;  then,  the  next  minute,  his  eyebrows,  those 
few  long  red  hairs,  would  go  high  up  in  his  fore- 
head, and  he  would  grin  maniacally.  So  he  sat, 
holding  the  pen  in  his  long  sunburnt  fingers,  and 
rapping  it  monotonously  on  the  blotting-pad. 

His  trouble  was  that  he  could  not  think.  He  had 
tried  as  he  walked  through  the  streets,  with  the 
'buses  and  cabs  roaring  by;  he  had  tried  hard  to 
think  this  matter  out  there.  But  it  had  been  useless. 
He  could  only  realize  that  he  hated  Oliver  Bolt  more 
than  he  had  hated  the  countess  when  she  was  in  the 
zenith  of  her  power  and  ruled  him  with  a  rod  of 
iron.  He  hated  Oliver  Bolt,  not  for  casting  asper- 
sions on  Hannah's  character,  but  because  that  smil- 
ing scoundrel  had  snatched  away  his  happiness.  He 
hardly  considered  Hannah  at  all.  His  mind  was  in 
such  a  ferment  that  only  hatred  could  grow  articu- 
late there;  all  he  knew  was  that  he  hated  Oliver 
Bolt;  all  he  felt  was  that  his  happiness  had  been 
filched  from  him. 

So  he  sat  over  the  great  table,  rapping  the  blot- 
ting-pad; calmly  waiting  for  the  tempest  in  his 
mind  to  die  down,  in  order  that  he  might  think 


190  THE   FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

clearly  and  make  his  plans.  The  little  carriage- 
clock  on  the  broad  mantelpiece  ticked  briskly,  and 
as  it  ticked  Lord  Mane's  rapping  on  the  blotting- 
pad  sounded  like  some  old  grandfather-clock  beating 
sullen  remonstrance.  There  was  no  other  sound 
in  the  lofty  chamber,  with  its  dull  bookshelves,  its 
heavy  furniture,  its  somber  green  curtains.  Only 
the  metallic  tick-tack,  and  the  measured  thutt — 
thutt. 

The  gas  burned  dimly  in  green  globes,  and  cast 
a  sickly  light  on  the  pinched,  twitching  face  of  the 
shrunken  old  man  sitting  at  the  wide  table.  It 
made  his  long  red-yellow  hair  shine  like  new  straw. 
It  gave  his  shiny  red  face  a  cadaverous  hue,  and 
made  the  sandy  hair  on  his  long,  bony,  red  hands 
glisten  like  gold.  Now  and  then,  the  burners  being 
corroded  with  age,  the  gas  would  flicker,  and  flash 
a  light  shadow  across  the  earl's  face. 

Tick-tack,  tick-tack;  thutt — thutt — thutt. 

At  last  there  was  a  jerk  in  the  clock's  ticking,  a 
dull  whi-r-r-r-r,  and  then  the  vibrating  hammer  beat 
out  the  hour.  The  earl  flung  down  his  pen,  and  put 
his  hand  on  the  whisky  decanter.  The  silence  in  the 
great  room  seemed  rolled  suddenly  away.  The  chair 
on  which  he  sat  creaked,  the  decanter  rang  on  the 
glass  as  he  poured  out  the  spirit,  the  gas  at  that 
moment  flared  up  with  a  sharp,  hissing  sound,  and 
the  earl  himself  rose  and  walked  to  and  fro  in  the 
room.  All  the  oppressive  silence  and  torpor  van- 
ished, and  with  that  the  tempest  in  the  old  man's 
mind  died  down. 


CRISIS  191 

He  drank  his  whisky  with  a  steady  hand,  took  his 
pipe  and  tobacco  pouch  from  his  pocket,  and,  walk- 
ing slowly  up  and  down  before  the  mantelpiece, 
loaded  the  old  blackened  briar.  Then,  putting  the 
pipe  in  his  mouth,  he  folded  up  a  scrap  of  paper, 
reached  tiptoe  to  the  gas,  lighted  the  spill,  and  then 
slowly  lighted  his  pipe. 

He  felt  better.  He  poured  himself  out  more 
whisky.  He  began  to  see  the  matter  clearly.  Here, 
said  he,  is  a  girl  who  promises  me  peace  and  home- 
happiness  ;  she  has  never  been  used  to  the  world  of 
vanity  fair ;  she  has  had  to  work  for  her  living,  and 
she  will  value  the  tranquillity  and  repose  of  Kyn 
Castle.  She  is  gentle,  caressing,  tender.  She  loves 
my  son,  the  child  I  have  neglected,  and  he  loves  her. 
If  she  were  a  hypocrite  he  would  have  detected  it ; 
he  would  not  cling  to  her.  With  this  girl  I  may  live 
the  rest  of  my  days  in  peace,  on  my  own  land, 
among  the  peasants  who  understand  me,  rearing 
fine  cattle,  growing  great  crops.  My  home  will  be 
my  own.  With  her — and  her  mother — I  shall  not 
fear  Mrs.  Whittle.  I  shall  be  able  to  go  where  I 
will,  do  what  I  like,  save  my  money,  and  perhaps 
leave  sons  and  daughters  behind  me  to  carry  on 
the  name. 

He  drank  his  whisky,  pressed  down  the  tobacco  in 
his  pipe,  and  went  on  with  his  meditations.  This 
girl,  he  said,  meets  a  scoundrel,  a  born  scoundrel, 
and  she  gives  him  the  impression  that  she  is  pleased 
by  his  attentions.  It  may  be  her  very  innocence :  it 
may  be  his  own  conceit.  Perhaps  he  pays  her  com- 


192  THE    FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

pliments,  and  she  smiles,  pleased,  like  a  child — as 
she  has  smiled  up  at  me  fifty  times.  Then  he  goes 
among  his  vile  kind,  and  says  she  is  this,  and  she  is 
that,  and  her  reputation  is  gone. 

Am  I  to  fling  away  my  happiness  on  the  sugges- 
tion of  a  beast  like  that  ?  Never !  I  will  go  to  her 
to-morrow ;  I  will  take  them  out  with  me,  spend  my 
money  freely,  spend  hundreds  of  pounds,  and  let 
them  enjoy  themselves  like  children.  There  shall 
be  no  more  meanness.  We  will  go  here  and  there, 
as  happy  as  any  people  under  God's  skies ;  and  I  will 
marry  her,  and  when  we  are  married  we  will  all  go 
to  the  castle  together,  and  there  shall  be  innocent 
laughter  in  the  corridors,  pure  women  there,  and 
little  Kyn  running  about  like  a  happy  boy  wherever 
he  chooses. 

He  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  chuckled. 
Fah !  he  said,  to  think  that  I  was  going  to  fling  away 
all  that  on  the  suggestion  of  a  foul-minded  black- 
guard, who  probably  doesn't  believe  that  a  pure 
woman  exists !  The  man,  too,  who  ought  to  have 
been  in  Dulverton's  shoes,  if  Criddle  heard  correctly. 
Fah! 

He  laughed  aloud,  rubbed  his  hands,  and  went 
back  to  the  wide  table  by  the  great  green  curtains 
in  the  window-recess.  He  picked  up  his  letters, 
opened  them,  threw  all  but  one  away  (one  from  Mrs. 
[Whittle)  and  then  took  up  the  packet.  He  looked 
at  the  postmark ;  it  was  London.  The  writing  was 
strange.  He  unfastened  the  string,  removed  the 
brown  paper,  and  found  there  a  white  cardboard  box 


CRISIS  193 

with  silver  edges.  He  opened  the  lid.  A  sheet  of 
white  paper  was  lying  there  on  which  was  written 
— "Wedding  Cake  for  the  dashing  Lord  Mane !" 
With  an  oath  the  old  gentleman  snatched  at  the 
paper ;  it  came  away,  and  disclosed  there  in  the  box, 
not  wedding  cake,  but  a  little  packet  of  letters. 

Wondering  what  jest  was  being  played  upon  him, 
.and  growling  in  his  throat,  Lord  Mane  took  the  let- 
ters from  the  box,  and  opened  them.  The  first 
words  to  catch  his  eye  were  "Poyntz  Hall" — in  the 
address  at  the  head  of  the  paper;  the  next — "My 
dearest  Hannah." 

Then  he  read  the  letter  through,  with  clenched 
teeth  and  knotted  brows — right  through  to  the  sig- 
nature "Yours  for  ever,  Dick."  He  laid  the  letter 
down,  and  took  another.  Slowly,  his  pipe  smoking 
sullenly  on  the  blotting-pad  where  he  had  laid  it, 
he  read  that  letter  through ;  then  the  next,  and  the 
next,  and  the  next,  and  the  next.  Six  letters ;  six  pas- 
sionate love-letters,  written  with  all  the  flowing  en- 
thusiasm of  youth,  addressed  to  the  girl  who  had 
promised  to  be  his  wife.  He  re-read  one  letter  again. 
The  mysterious  person  who  had  sent  him  the  packet 
had  underlined  one  of  its  sentences.  It  ran: — "I 
can  almost  love  the  absence  from  you  that  inspires 
letters  of  such  deep  and  exquisite  passion;  they 
make  me  realize  more  than  any  of  your  spoken 
words  that  you  love  me  as  I  love  you — heart,  mind, 
body,  and  soul,  for  ever  and  ever." 

The  earl  turned  back  to  the  front  sheet  and  looked 
at  the  date.  It  was  the  last  of  the  letters;  it  had 


194  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

arrived  but  two  days  before  Hannah  left  the  castle 
to  go — back  to  her  lover's  arms ! 

He  laid  the  letter  with  the  others,  and  then  bowed 
his  face  to  the  table,  covering  his  eyes  with  his 
hands. 

While  the  earl  went  through  his  hour  of  agony, 
Oliver  Bolt  and  Lord  Escott  played  baccarat  at 
Carpatti's,  and  lost  their  money.  Then  they  came 
away  from  that  disreputable  establishment,  and, 
with  their  coats  flung  over  their  arms,  walked  slow- 
ly through  the  now  almost  deserted  streets. 

"Come  to  my  rooms  for  a  whisky,"  said  Oliver. 

"It's  late,"  said  young  Escott ;  "I  think  I'll  go  and 
turn  in." 

Oliver's  arm  slid  through  his.  "One  whisky,  my 
dear  fellow,  and  mutual  consolation  in  a  cigarette. 
Come  along."  Then  they  turned  down  Duke  Street 
and  entered  Oliver's  chambers. 

"There  is  the  whisky,"  said  Bolt,  when  the  electric 
light  had  been  switched  on,  "and  here  is  the  soda. 
No,  not  that  chair,  my  dear  fellow ;  this  is  yours — 
the  seat  of  honor — the  seat  where  I  sit  during  the 
painful  process  of  incubation,  hatching  out  pretty 
rondeau  and  villanelle  for  the  delectation  of  duch- 
esses !" 

He  laughed  his  deep  mocking  laugh,  and  pushed 
the  young  marquess  into  his  armchair. 

"I  wish,  by  gad,  I  was  a  clever  devil  like  you !" 
said  Escott,  lighting  a  cigarette.  "It's  devilish  dull 
doing  nothing  but  knock  about  town,  and  devilish 


CRISIS  195 

expensive  too.  If  I  could  write  poems,  Olley,  I'd 
write  'em  all  day,  in  a  cottage,  somewhere  near  the 
sea,  and  I'd  eat  bread  and  cheese  and  drink  beer, 
and  never  give  a  tinker's  curse  for  this  vice-eaten 
Babylon." 

Bolt,  who  was  glancing  over  his  letters,  looked  up 
and  smiled.  "Meredith  calls  it  'a  prodded  ox' !  But 
what  a  good  fellow  you  are !"  he  exclaimed  quietly. 
The  tone  in  which  this  compliment  was  paid,  the 
smile  on  Oliver's  face,  made  the  young  marquess, 
as  they  were  intended  to  do,  feel  very  proud.  "But, 
dear  Escott,  fancy  writing  poems  on  bread  and 
cheese,  in  a  cottage  too,  and,  worst  of  all,  by  the  sea. 
It  requires  a  Shakespeare  to  triumph  over  impedi- 
ments of  such  titanic  toughness.  No,  the  poet  must 
drink  inspiration  from  the  Helicon  of  Moet ;  he  must 
wax  fat  and  well  liking  on  meats  worthy  of  Lucul- 
lus." 

He  drew  up  a  chair,  and,  with  one  of  the  letters  in 
his  hand,  came  and  sat  close  to  his  guest. 

"And  why  want  to  be  a  clever  devil  like  me  ?"  he 
laughed.  "You  have  the  prophet  Browning's  au- 
thority for  believing  that  the  man  who  reads  Lear, 
richly  bound,  seated  in  a  deep  chair  like  that  you 
now  honor  with  the  weight  of  your  body,  with  the 
best  brew  of  Scotland  at  his  elbow,  the  finest  tobacco 
of  Egypt  between  his  fingers,  gets  more,  infinitely 
more  enjoyment  out  of  Cordelia,  good  dog  Kent, 
and  the  explosive  old  Lear  himself  than  ever  Shake- 
speare got  in  the  making  of  them.  Poets,  dear  peer 
of  England,  write  of  lords  and  great  ladies :  you  are 


196  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

yourself  a  lord.  You  are  blest  a  thousand,  nay,  a 
million  more  times  than  Isaiah,  Omar  Khayyam, 
Homer,  Heine,  De  Musset,  I.  The  only  poet  com- 
parable with  you  is  Tennyson,  one  who  by  his  poetry 
earned  a  peerage.  But  what  a  newness,  what  a 
French  polish  in  'The  First  Lord  Tennyson' !  What 
age,  what  grandeur,  what  tradition,  what  witchery 
of  the  ages  in  'The  Twelfth  Marquess  Escott' !" 

He  laughed,  and  lifted  his  glass.  "To  the  twelfth 
Marquess  Escott!  May  he  never  soil  his  fingers 
with  poet's  pen  or  artist's  pencil !"  He  drank,  and 
laughed  happily  again.  "Think,  too,  how  blest  you 
are  in  sovereigns,  and  half-sovereigns,  and  the 
sturdy  roue  de  voiture!  While  I,  impecunious  poet, 
whose  verses  do  not  even  pay  for  the  parchment 
that  binds  them,  am  troubled  with  letters  like  this !" 

He  held  up  the  letter  in  his  hand,  and  fluttered  it 
in  the  air.  "Seriously,  my  dear  fellow,  I  am  in  what 
is  called  a  hole.  It  is  a  most  uncomfortable  hole. 
For  a  man  of  my  size  abominably  uncomfortable." 

Lord  Escott  shifted  in  his  deep  chair.  "I'm 
awfully  sorry,  Olley,  devilish  sorry,"  he  said,  glanc- 
ing at  the  clock. 

"You  couldn't  be  glad!"  laughed  Bolt.  "It  is 
always  so  unpleasant  when  one's  friends  mention 
money  bothers.  One  instantly  says,  'Confound  the 
fellow,  he's  going  to  borrow  money.'  I  hope  I 
didn't  make  you  think  that  ?" 

Lord  Escott  grew  very  red.  "No,  Olley,  on  my 
word,  you  didn't.  And,  besides,  if  I  could  ever  get 


CRISIS  197 

you  out  of  a  hole,  I'd  do  it.  Like  a  shot."  He  strug- 
gled out  of  his  chair. 

"I  wonder,"  said  Bolt,  very  slowly,  laying  a  hand 
on  the  boy's  shoulder;  "I  wonder  if — should  it  come 
to  that — you  would  mind  backing  my  bill  ?" 

Escott  looked  anywhere  except  into  Oliver's  eyes. 
"I  don't  care  about  backing  bills,"  he  said  very 
nervously.  "My  poor  old  father  always  made  me 
swear  that  I  would  never  back  a  bill." 

Oliver's  hand  dropped  from  his  shoulder.  "That 
makes  me  almost  disposed  to  dislike  your  papa,"  he 
said,  with  a  quiet,  hurt  little  laugh. 

Escott  glanced  up.  "But,  look  here,  Olley,  I'll 
see  if  I  can  lend  you  the What's  the  sum?" 

"No,  no,  my  dear  good  Escott,  certainly  not.  I 
will  go  hat  in  hand  to  Mr.  Isaacs,  duck  my  head 
under  his  condescending  proboscis,  and  beg  for  my 
thousand." 

"A  thousand,  is  it  ?"  said  Escott. 

"Don't  laugh  at  the  sum!"  cried  Bolt;  "it's  a 
devil  of  a  lot  to  me." 

"And  to  me !"  said  Escott.  He  chucked  his  coat 
over  his  shoulder,  swung  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  and 
went  to  the  door.  "I'll  see  what  I  can  do,  Olley. 
Good-night." 

Then  Oliver  Bolt  looked  over  all  the  invitations 
on  his  mantelpiece — he  had  been  much  sought  after 
since  his  distinguished  appearance  in  the  cause 
cclebre — and  addressed  them  with  fatherly  tender- 
ness :  "I  am  not  going  to  desert  you  yet.  The  lit- 
tle poets  have  their  day,  they  have  their  day  and 


198  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

cease  to  be;  but  that  does  not  apply  to  me,  who 
more  sagacious  am  than  they!  Ha!  Ha!"  He 
laughed  the  deep  scornful  laugh  that  seemed  so  full 
of  authority,  and  then  turned  to  the  letter  he  had 
flung  back  to  the  table.  "So  you  can't  bleed  him  any 
more,  the  old  reprobate !"  he  said.  "And  you  think 
I  cannot  hope  to  draw  more  supplies  from  that 
source  ?  Oh,  yes,  I  shall !  He  shall  be  my  banker 
to  the  day  of  his  death ;  yes,  and  that  damned  gov- 
erness shall  eat  dust  and  ashes  to  the  end  of  her 
days.  That's  my  answer  to  your  letter,  Mrs.  Whit- 
tle. And  as  to  mending  my  ways!  Pooh!"  He 
laughed  contemptuously;  and  with  pursed  lips,  as 
if  the  cheap  paper  offended  his  fingers,  tore  the  let- 
ter to  bits. 


XVI 

IN  WHICH  MRS.  MERSEY  PAYS  A  MORNING  CALL 

IF  there  was  anything  in  the  world  Mrs.  Mersey 
prided  herself  upon  it  was  her  great  mental 
activity.  She  never  brooded.  She  never  sat  weakly 
over  a  fire  dreaming  in  the  red  embers.  If  she  had 
a  great  trouble  she  would  descend  to  the  kitchen  and 
tell  the  landlady  that  she  would  cook  that  day's  din- 
ner. But  this  was  only  when  she  had  a  very  big 
trouble.  The  ordinary  worries  of  life  she  met  with 
the  needle,  singing  songs  of  her  girlhood  as  that 
gleaming  weapon  of  woman's  defense  flashed  in 
and  out  of  garments  destined  for  the  poor  of  her 
district.  It  was  her  constant  remark  that  all  the 
suicides,  all  the  atheism,  and  all  the  dismal  poetry 
of  the  world  were  due  to  the  wicked  and  unheavenly 
habit  of  brooding.  "People,"  she  used  to  say,  "sit 
on  their  troubles  and  think  they're  going  to  hatch 
out  blessings.  They  might  as  well  put  a  Bible  in 
their  pockets  and  think  they  are  safe  for  heaven!'* 
That  was  her  brisk  way  of  putting  things. 

On  the  morning  following  Lord  Mane's  sudden 
explosion  she  appeared  at  the  breakfast  table  in  her 
bonnet  and  jacket.  She  poured  out  the  tea  with  a 
more  than  usually  steady  hand,  and  chopped  the  top 
off  her  egg  with  a  finish  that  a  cavalryman  at  heads- 

199 


200  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

and-posts  might  well  have  envied.  Then  dipping  a 
finger  of  bread  and  butter  into  the  steaming  yolk, 
she  asked  in  a  brisk,  business-like  tone  where  Lord 
Mane  lived  in  town. 

"In  St.  James's  Square/'  said  Hannah,  looking 
up ;  "but  why  do  you  ask  ?" 

"I'm  going  to  inquire  after  his  health." 

"My  dear  mother !" 

"Allow  me  to  know  what  is  best.  If  you're  not 
anxious,  I  am.  If  you  don't  feel  for  him,  I  do. 
What  is  the  number  in  St.  James's  Square?" 

"I  really  don't  know,"  said  Hannah,  "but  I  would 
very  much  rather  you  did  not  go.  It  looks  as  if  we 
were " 

"Is  your  egg  nice,  dear  ?"  said  Mrs.  Mersey,  lean- 
ing over  to  Kyn. 

"Yes,  thank  you ;  but  they're  a  little  nicer,  I  think, 
at  the  castle." 

"It's  the  kind  of  hen  you  keep,"  Mrs.  Mersey 
replied.  "These  London  hens,  my  dear,  are  cross- 
breds — very  common — and  no  more  capable  of  lay- 
ing a  fresh  egg  than  this  teapot." 

Mrs.  Mersey  swallowed  half  a  cup  of  tea,  and 
rose  from  the  table  buttoning  her  jacket.  "Do  you 
know,  dear,  where  your  papa  lives  in  St.  James's 
Square  ?"  she  asked. 

"It's  called  Kyn  House,"  the  child  replied. 

"Of  course  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Mersey. 

"Mother,  I  wish "  began  Hannah.  But  Mrs. 

Mersey  turned  to  Kyn.  "Any  message  for  youc 


A  MORNING  CALL  2OI 

dear  papa?"  she  inquired  sweetly,  and  in  another 
minute  she  was  gone. 

Hannah  was  annoyed.  "My  mother,"  she  said  to 
herself,  "is  like  all  the  world,  an  actor.  She  pre- 
tends to  like  the  earl;  she  pretends  to  be  anxious 
about  his  health;  she  persuades  herself  that  she 
likes  him,  and  that  his  health  is  a  matter  of  concern 
to  her.  That  is  why  people  like  her.  She  acts  bet- 
ter than  I  do — better  than  all  the  rest  of  the  world. 
She  never  takes  off  her  mask.  But  now  she  is  play- 
ing a  part  in  a  scene  that  concerns  me,  and  she  will 
probably  ruin  the  plot." 

Hannah  was  angry,  and  Hannah's  anger  was  of  a 
silent,  invisible  kind ;  it  acted  like  a  churn  to  all 
the  liquid  bitterness  of  her  soul — stirring  it  up,  beat- 
ing it  here  and  there,  till  presently  a  dead  solid 
weight  of  resentment  occupied  all  her  soul-space, 
leaving  no  room  for  anything  else.  In  moments  of 
this  kind  she  did  what  her  mother  never  did — she 
brooded.  Depressed  by  that  solid  weight  of  bitter- 
ness, she  could  only  sit  and  stare  before  her,  with 
pursed  lips  and  such  a  heavy,  forbidding  look  in  her 
saint-like  face  as  would  have  taken  Mrs.  Brough's 
breath  quite  away.  But  as  it  is  no  pleasant  occupa- 
tion to  watch  our  dissembler  in  circumstances  of  this 
kind,  we  will  leave  her  in  the  Clapham  apartments, 
and  hurry  after  Mrs.  Mersey,  who  by  this  time  has 
reached  St.  James's  Square. 

The  good  lady  walked  twice  round  that  respecta- 
ble quarter,  and  seeing  no  mention  of  Kyn  House 
on  any  of  the  sober  portals,  she  made  straight  for 


202  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

the  veteran  commissionaire  pacing  up  and  down 
before  the  Army  and  Navy  Club.  From  him  she 
received  the  information  she  required  and  trotted 
off,  devoutly  praying  that  Lord  Mane  would  not 
have  stirred  abroad. 

While  her  hand  was  yet  on  the  heavy  bell-handle 
the  great  green  door  opened  suddenly,  and  there 
stood  his  lordship  dressed  to  go  out,  with  William 
Budge  deferentially  holding  the  door  aside.  Mrs. 
Mersey  was  struck  by  the  ashen  grayness  of  Lord 
Mane's  face,  but  she  was  by  no  means  disconcerted 
when  the  little  lord  demanded  testily  what  it  was 
she  wanted. 

"Five  minutes'  conversation,  my  lord,"  said  Mrs. 
Mersey;  "and  I  see  you  want  it,  for,  whether  you 
took  my  advice  or  not,  you're  looking  worse  than 
you  did  last  night." 

The  earl  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  turned  on 
his  heel  and  bade  her  follow.  William  closed  the 
door,  and  Mrs.  Mersey  went  down  the  hall  with 
her  umbrella  crossed  over  her  breast,  her  eyes  reso- 
lutely fixed  on  Lord  Mane's  very  tall  hat  with  the 
narrow  brim.  He  opened  the  library  door,  shuffled 
over  to  the  hearthrug,  and  then  turned  round  rather 
wearily  to  face  Mrs.  Mersey.  Hannah's  mother 
shut  the  door  and  walked  to  the  hearthrug. 

"Now,  tell  me  what  it  is  ?"  she  said  gently.  Such 
good  nature,  such  innocent  affection,  such  honest 
sympathy  beamed  in  the  old  lady's  face  that  the  earl 
was  obliged  to  look  down  at  his  boots. 

"Come,"  she  went  on,  "there's  something  on  your 


A  MORNING  CALL  203 

mind,  something  worrying  you.  Hannah's  young, 
and  thought  I  oughtn't  to  come;  but  I  couldn't 
sleep  last  night  thinking  of  the  look  on  your  face 
when  I  said  good-by  under  the  gas-lamp.  And  that 
look's  in  your  face  this  morning,  only  worse — much 
worse.  Yes,  and  I  thought  about  you  all  last  night ; 
thought  of  your  late  trouble,  your  loneliness,  your 
craving  for  sympathy.  I  said  to  myself  over  and 
over  again,  'There's  that  good  little  man  in  that 
great  big  house  of  his  without  one  single  woman  to 
whom  he  can  open  his  heart  and  ask  for  sympathy.' 
It  kept  me  awake  all  night.  Now,  come,  tell  me 
what  it  is,  and  see  if  I  can't  help  you.  I'm  a  plain, 
motherly  creature,  but  I'm  what  is  called  a  manag- 
ing woman ;  and  if  there's  anything  that  would  give 
me  downright  pleasure  it  would  be  getting  you  out 
of  this  slough  of  despond.  Come,  how  can  I  help 
you?" 

The  earl  had  raised  his  eyes  as  she  spoke,  and 
watched  her  eagerly  and  closely.  He  was  going  out, 
when  she  arrived,  to  make  arrangements  for  a  long 
journey  abroad.  Broken-hearted  and  friendless,  he 
had  no  desire  to  stay  in  London;  and,  fearful  of 
Mrs.  Whittle,  he  dared  not  return  to  the  only 
place  he  loved  in  the  world,  Kyn  Castle,  with  its 
cattle  and  rich  meadows.  Now  this  woman  had 
come  upon  the  scene,  and  he  wavered.  He  loved 
Kyn  Castle,  and  with  a  new  wife,  and  especially 
with  this  kind,  brisk,  motherly  soul,  he  knew  that 
he  would  have  the  courage  to  withstand  the  de- 


204  THE   FALL   OF  THE  CURTAIN 

mands  of  Mrs.  Whittle.  Every  week  since  he  left 
the  castle  he  had  received  letters  from  that  stern 
woman,  letters  that  renewed  his  fear  of  her,  and 
kept  him  waiting  in  a  city  he  loathed  with  all  his 
soul.  To  return  there  unmarried  would,  he  knew 
very  well,  result  in  Mrs.  Whittle's  obtaining  com- 
plete domination  over  his  will.  So  he  listened  to 
Mrs.  Mersey,  with  hunger  in  his  mind. 

"Come,"  she  said,  "how  can  I  help  you  ?" 

"I  don't  want  help,"  he  said  doggedly.  "I'm 
thinkin'  of  the  future.  And  when  a  man's  been 
fooled  and  broken  once,  the  future's  a  subjec'  he'd 
better  consider  well,  or  else  go  an'  hang  himself." 

"Spoken  like  a  wise  man,"  cried  Mrs.  Mersey. 
"You've  been  fooled  and  broken  by  a  heartless 
woman " 

"By  a  liar,"  he  squeaked  angrily. 

"Yes,  by  a  liar,  and  a  lying  woman  is  the  wicked- 
est of  creatures,  for  the  Creator  gave  the  female 
more  power  than  He  gave  to  man  for  being  down- 
right in  speech.  A  lying  woman  of  fashion  fooled 
you ;  a  woman  who  was  always  for  having  parties, 
wearing  out  your  carpets  and  emptying  your  lar- 
iders,  and  was  never  happy  unless  she  was  gadding 
about.  Now,  is  Hannah  that  sort  ?" 

"Is  she  a  liar  ?"  he  asked. 

"My  lord!" 

"I  say,  is  she  a  liar?  Is  she  truthful,  is  she  sim- 
ple, is  she  innocent?  Or  is  she  a  double-faced, 
lying,  sin-plotting  Jezebel?  Now,  you're  her 
mother;  is  she?" 


A  MORNING  CALL  205 

Mrs.  Mersey  remained  quite  calm.  "You've  been 
up  all  night,"  she  said ;  "and  you've  been  thinking 
first  of  your  last  wife  and  then  of  your  next,  until 
you've  got  them  so  mixed  you  cannot  think  straight. 
My  daughter  a  liar!  My  daughter  double-faced! 
Why,  my  lord,  do  you  know  that  all  her  earnings, 
save  a  little  for  dress,  have  been  given  to  keep  me 
from  starving?  The  pittance  I  get  from  a  charity 
isn't  enough  to  keep  me  in  curl-papers,  and  but  for 
my  Hannah — my  double-faced,  sin-plotting  Jeze- 
bel ! — I  should  long  ago  have  been  in  the  workhouse, 
picking  oakum  and  all  that." 

"She's  kep'  you,  has  she?" 

"Ever  since  she  went  out  to  earn  her  daily  bread 
as  an  honest  woman,"  Mrs.  Mersey  replied  stoutly. 

"She's  never  been  a  flirt,  I  suppose ;  never  given 
to  makin'  eyes  at  every  pair  of  trousers  that  came 
into  the  room?" 

"Now,  my  dear  good  lord,"  said  Mrs.  Mersey, 
with  a  smile  overspreading  her  broad,  rosy  face, 
"does  she  look  that  sort?  Does  she  strike  you  as  a 
light-hearted  strip  of  a  girl  with  nothing  but  poetry 
and  ribbons  in  her  mind  ?  Be  honest  with  yourself ; 
does  she  now?" 

"She  don't  look  it,  but  damme,  is  she  ?"  He  thrust 
his  hand  forward,  and  stamped  with  his  stick  upon 
the  hearthrug. 

"No,  she  isn't,"  said  Mrs.  Mersey,  tossing  up  her 
head,  "and  I  defy  man,  woman,  or  infant  to  prove 
that  she  is.  God  bless  my  soul,  why  the  girl's  one 
of  the  serious  kind;  it's  written  all  over  her  face, 


206  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

comes  out  in  all  her  actions.  If  she's  a  flirt,  with  no 
other  thought  in  her  mind  but  wickedness  and  fool- 
ishness, I'm  an  acrobat  and  you're  a  water-cart !" 

The  earl  was  impressed.  "She  may  have  had  love 
affairs  without  ever  lettin'  you  hear  of  'em.  Many 
good  girls  do  that,  eh  ?" 

"As  for  that,"  said  Mrs.  Mersey,  sitting  down  in 
one  of  the  armchairs  with  her  fat  umbrella  over  her 
knees,  "I  was  in  love  with  a  butcher-boy  when  I  was 
three,  and  head-over-heels  in  love  with  the  Prince 
Consort  when  I  was  learning  French  and  freehand 
drawing." 

"But  serious  love  affairs,  damn  it!"  said  the 
earl,  resenting  Mrs.  Mersey's  light-hearted  refer- 
ence to  her  past. 

"Oh,  she  may  have  fancied  herself  in  love  with 
someone,  may  have  written  letters  and  may  have 
given  her  photograph,  and  all  that  tomfoolery ;  I'm 
not  saying  the  girl  hasn't.  But  what  I  do  say  is 
that  she  was  never  flippant  about  it — never  doing  it 
for  the  mere  sake  of  attracting  attention.  She's  not 
that  kind." 

The  earl  took  a  step  to  the  writing-table,  paused, 
then  went  on  again.  He  put  his  hand  to  the  drawer 
where  lay  Hannah's  letters  to  Dick  Brough;  then 
he  drew  it  back.  Laying  his  stick  upon  the  table, 
and  taking  off  his  hat,  he  turned  round  and  faced 
Mrs.  Mersey. 

"Come,  now,  you're  an  honest  woman,"  he 
squeaked;  "tell  me,  do  you  think  your  daughter 
loves  me?" 


A  MORNING  CALL  207 

"If  she  doesn't,"  Mrs.  Mersey  replied  with  inim- 
itable calm,  "I'm  a  Dutchman." 

"Does  she?"  cried  the  earl,  rapping  the  table 
angrily. 

Mrs.  Mersey  got  out  of  her  chair  and  approached 
him.  "What  do  you  mean  by  'love'?"  she  asked. 
"If  you  mean,  does  my  daughter  go  about  talking  of 
your  good  looks  and  your  beautiful  love  speeches, 
no ;  no,  she  does  not  love  you  any  more  than  I  love 
the  Pope's  toe.  But  if  you  mean,  does  she  admire 
your  character,  does  she  talk  of  your  kind  heart, 
does  she  say  what  a  lovely  home  might  be  made  of 
that  old  castle  of  yours,  then  yes.  Yes,  she  loves 
you,  as  I  loved  my  husband,  and  as  he  loved  me — 
bless  his  dear,  sweet  soul." 

The  earl  leaned  against  the  writing-table,  his  hat 
in  his  hand,  his  sharp,  querulous  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
carpet.  Thoughts  of  the  castle,  the  gigantic  linhays, 
the  wide  stockyard  with  its  whitewashed  rails,  the 
great  stack-yard  with  its  rows  of  huge  stacks ;  and 
thoughts,  too,  of  the  fields  with  the  blooded1 
cattle,  the  black-faced  sheep,  the  crops  of  swedes, 
mangolds,  oats,  wheat,  and  barley,  stirred  in  his 
mind,  and  turned  the  balance  in  Hannah's  favor. 
He  put  on  his  hat. 

"You're  going  out !"  said  Mrs.  Mersey. 

"Ain't  you?"  he  demanded. 

"Yes,  but  I  shan't  go  home  happy  till  I  know  your 
mind's  at  rest.  Look  here,  my  lord,"  she  went  on 
quickly,  "it  would  seem  to  any  evil-minded  person 
that  I  was  here  with  you  doing  all  in  my  power  to 


208  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

capture  you  as  a  husband  for  my  daughter.  But 
it's  so  open  and  unashamed  that  it  shows  my  hon- 
esty, and  you'll  believe  me,  I  know,  when  I  say  this. 
I  came  to  be  of  service  to  you,  knowing  that  Hannah 
will  be  a  true  and  good  wife,  faithful  to  you,  faith- 
ful to  her  marriage  vows,  and  a  good,  saving  and 
contriving  housekeeper,  for  I  brought  her  up  my- 
self." 

The  word  housekeeper  caused  the  earl  to  wince. 

"I  know  this,"  went  on  Mrs.  Mersey,  "and  I'm  as 
anxious  that  she  should  be  all  this  to  you  as  I  am 
that  she  should  have  a  good  husband  and  a  comfort- 
able home.  There,  that's  what  I  came  to  say,  and 
whether  you  think  ill  of  me  or  not  I  can't  help  it; 
and,  having  said  it,  I'm  going  home,  and  when 
you've  thought  the  matter  over  come  down  and  have 
a  cup  of  tea  with  us,  and  you'll  be  all  the  better 
for  it!" 

Excellent  woman!  Even  if,  as  the  analytical 
Hannah  would  have  us  believe,  this  sympathy  and 
outspokenness  are  so  much  acting,  is  it  not  well  that 
we  all  play  such  pleasing  parts,  and  strive  to  make 
the  comedy  of  life  a  spectacle  whereon  the  angels 
may  look  without,  at  least,  disgust  ?  Let  Mrs.  Mer- 
sey play  her  part,  for  it  is  a  part1  that  tends  to  peace 
and  happiness;  and  let  those  convinced  that  they 
are  wicked  by  nature,  and,  for  the  very  sake  of  hon- 
esty, must  live  wickedly,  keep,  in  God's  name,  as 
much  in  the  wings  as  possible. 

Such  was  the  effect  of  Mrs.  Mersey's  acting  on 
the  earl  that  he  began  to  chuckle.    Thoughts  of  leav- 


A  MORNING   CALL  209 

ing  England  went  from  his  mind  as  dew  before  a 
whistling  south-wester.  Thoughts  of  fearing  the  in- 
fluence of  Mrs.  Whittle  tumbled  over  the  heels  of 
the  other  miserable  reflections  in  their  haste  to  be 
out  of  his  mind.  Such  a  woman  as  this  one  before 
him  was  a  new  experience  in  his  life ;  she  belonged 
to  a  class  with  whom  he  had  never  mixed,  but  of 
whom  he  had  ever  held  that  to  them  belong  all  the 
virtues  of  thrift,  simplicity,  and  honesty.  To  lose 
her,  to  lose  this  good  woman  who  courted  him  and 
recognized  his  dignity,  while  she  strengthened  his 
will  and  formed  his  thoughts,  was  not  to  be  thought 
of  for  a  moment.  So  he  chuckled,  with  his  hat  over 
his  eyes. 

"You've  forgotten  our  engagement,"  he  said. 

"I  declare  you're  better  already!"  said  the  lady 
delightedly.  "There,  I  knew  a  few  minutes'  con- 
versation with  an  honest  woman  would  set  you  on 
your  little  legs  again,  and  though  Hannah  thought 
I  was  presumptuous  and  taking  too  much  upon  my- 
self, I  knew  all  along  that  such  words  as  I  wanted 
to  say  could  do  at  least  no  harm  and  might  do  a 
sackful  of  good." 

"And  why  didn't  you  bring  Kyn  and  Hannah 
along  with  you  ?"  said  the  earl. 

"I  thought  it  was  best  to  see  you  quietly  by  my- 
self." 

"But  our  engagement,  damme !  Didn't  I  promise 
to  treat  all  the  lot  of  you  to  the  Zoo?" 

He  went  over  to  the  writing-table  and  wrote  out 


210  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

a  telegram.  "How  will  this  do  ?"  he  asked.  "Bring 
Kyn  St.  James's  Square  in  hansom  immediately." 

"You'd  better  add,  my  lord,  that  you  are  going  to 
take  them  to  the  Zoo,  or  Hannah  will  be  worrying 
her  mind  that  something  dreadful  has  happened." 

"It'll  add  to  the  price  of  the  telegram,"  he 
chuckled,  but  did  as  he  was  bid  with  excellent  good 
humor. 

Then  the  bell  was  rung,  and  William  was 
despatched  with  the  telegram,  and  charged  with  a 
message  to  Mr.  Smith,  of  Duke  Street,  that  a  good 
landau,  with  a  couple  of  smart  horses,  "his  best, 
damme,"  said  the  earl,  should  be  at  the  doors  of 
Kyn  House  in  an  hour's  time. 

And  when  William  had  departed,  the  earl  opened 
a  drawer  in  his  writing-table  and  drew  forth  a  cash- 
box.  Opening  this  with  a  key  he  helped  himself 
liberally  to  gold  and  silver,  which  he  stuffed  into 
his  pockets,  chuckling  hard  all  the  time,  every  now 
and  then  looking  up  to  wink  at  the  beaming  Mrs. 
Mersey. 

"And  now,"  he  said,  when  the  cash-box  was  re- 
turned to  its  drawer,  "I'll  tell  you  somethin'  about 
myself,  somethin'  about  my  past.  When  I  was 
young,  ma'am,  I  ruined  a  woman,  a  common 
woman ;  ain't  that  dreadful,  now  ?  And  when  I  saw 
how  serious  it  was,  ma'am,  I  felt  I  ought  to  marry 
the  girl.  I  felt,  for  the  sake  of  the  woman's  child 
I  ought  to  put  up  the  banns  an'  make  a  damned  fool 
of  myself.  That  would  have  been  very  handsome 
of  me,  wouldn't  it,  eh  ?" 


A  MORNING  CALL  211 

"Very  foolish  of  you!"  said  Mrs.  Mersey,  with 
much  emphasis.  "No,  I've  no  patience  with  women 
who  do  wrong;  they've  got  power  to  withstand 
temptation,  and  if  they  yield  it's  their  own  weakness, 
and  to  reward  them  for  their  weakness  by  giving 
them  an  honest  woman's  right  is  to  encourage 
viciousness  and  turn  religion  topsy-turvy." 

"Damn  it!"  cried  the  earl,  "but  you're  the  most 
sensible  woman  I  ever  met.  You  see  things  from 
the  upper  air;  you're  a  sort  of  bird,  damn  me  if 
you  ain't.  You  see  the  world  from  the  religious 
standpoint,  don't  you,  now  ?  And  that's  the  way  it 
should  be  regarded  by  all  professin'  Christians." 
He  chuckled  and  rubbed  his  long,  red  hands  to- 
gether, standing  over  Mrs.  Mersey,  as  that  chubby 
soul,  still  nursing  her  fat  umbrella,  sat  in  the  big 
armchair  before  the  empty  fireplace. 

"But  to  continue  my  story,"  he  said,  growing 
serious  all  at  once.  "I  felt  I  ought  to  marry  the 
woman,  not  bein'  as  religious  as  I  am  now;  but 
bein'  fairly  sharp  I  determined  not  to  put  my  head 
in  her  noose,  for  of  all  the  hard,  masterful,  domi- 
neerin',  damned  devils  in  petticoats  she  was  in  the 
first  flight,  in  the  very  first  flight.  So  I  traveled.  I 
went  away  from  my  home,  where  the  woman  had  re- 
turned to  the  service  of  my  mother  after  a  sham 
widowhood  in  the  north." 

"She  was  a  servant?"  Mrs.  Mersey  demanded. 

He  nodded. 

"Bah !  I've  no  patience  with  the  hussies.  They're 
a  scheming,  contriving  lot,  every  one  of  them." 


212  THE   FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

"She  was  a  damned  handsome  woman,  ma'am," 
said  the  earl ;  "and  she  was  as  near  as  most  women 
can  get  to  being  a  countess,  damn  me  if  she 
wasn't."  He  chuckled,  and  began  stuffing  his  pipe 
with  tobacco. 

"I  traveled  about  England,"  he  went  on,  "and  I 
never  dared  to  go  back  to  my  home  for  fear  of  that 
woman.  Fear's  a  damn  funny  thing.  No  man  can 
be  bolder  with  a  cabman  or  a  footman  or  a  waiter 
than  me,  ma'am ;  I  can  stan'  my  groun'  with  dignity 
and  firmness  that  none  of  your  damned  loud-voiced 
blackguards  know  anythin'  about.  But  with  that 
woman  I  was  a  coward."  He  chuckled,  and  blinked 
like  an  owl.  "She  had  got  the  upper  hand  of  me.  I 
always  felt  that  if  she  could  get  me  into  a  room 
with  herself  alone  she'd  make  me  promise  to  marry 
her  before  ever  she  let  me  out !  She  had  a  wonder- 
ful masterin'  mind,  ma'am ;  a  sort  of  magnetic  in- 
fluence, if  you  understan'.  So  I  gave  her  a  wide 
berth,  an'  made  up  my  mind  to  marry  a  decent  wife, 
an'  so  end  the  matter." 

He  struck  a  match  and  lighted  his  pipe.  "Don't 
mind  smoke,  eh?"  he  asked,  winking  through  the 
clouds  that  wreathed  about  his  shiny  red  face.  "To 
continue,  an'  it's  a  damned  interestin'  story,  ain't  it, 
now? — my  wife  proved  too  much  for  me.  Instead 
of  lovin'  her  in  a  cold  dignified  fashion,  I  sat  at  her 
pretty  feet  with  my  mouth  open,  my  eyes  starin', 
my  hands  clasped !  I  worshiped  her  like  a  goddess. 
If  she  kissed  me  I  felt  the  clouds  were  droppin'  fat- 
ness ;  if  she  let  me  kiss  her  I  felt  as  if  the  end  of  the 


A  MORNING  CALL  213 

world  had  come  an'  I  was  in  the  very  center  of 
heaven !  That  was  damned  foolishness,  but  my  wife, 
ma'am,  was  the  beauty  of  her  season,  the  queen  of 
every  drawing-room  in  London,  an'  I  knew  damned 
well  that  I  wasn't  a  pocket  edition  of  Apollo.  So 
I  worshiped  her,  an'  the  pretty  doll  got  more  an' 
more  the  whip  hand  of  me,  till  some  time  after  our 
marriage  she  was  my  slave-driver,  an'  I  hadn't  a 
penny  I  could  call  my  own.  I'd  done  the  handsome 
thing  by  her.  She  was  only  a  parson's  daughter, 
though  she'd  got  breedin',  and  had  been  taken  up  by 
the  best  aristocracy  roun'  Kyn,  an'  I  made  her  a 
settlement  that  would  have  made  the  mouth  of  a 
king's  daughter  water  from  now  to  doomsday." 

He  stopped  and  rang  the  bell. 

"But  she  used  me  ill.  She  wanted  more  and  more 
money.  She  never  consulted  me  in  anythin'.  She 
got  tired  of  the  best  society,  an'  made  herself  a 
leader  of  the  new.  She  filled  my  house  with  card- 
sharpin'  blackguards,  with  actresses  about  as  wicked 
as  the  devils  in  Port  Said,  an'  told  me  to  keep  my 
own  rooms  if  I  didn't  like  her  friends." 

William  appeared.  "Biscuits,"  said  my  lord,  "and 
a  bottle  of  champagne." 

William  withdrew,  to  wink  a  mighty  wink  to 
himself  outside  the  door.  "Now  that  I've  shaken 
the  woman  off,"  said  the  earl,  "I  wonder  how  it 
was  she  cowed  me,  how  it  was  I  came  to  sit  still 
under  her  confounded  impertinence."  He  blew  out 
his  chest,  chucked  up  his  head,  and  blew  a  great 
stream  of  tobacco  towards  the  ceiling.  "But  I  was 


214  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

her  slave,  ma'am,  an'  I  feared  her  a  deal  more  than 
ever  I  feared  the  lady's  maid."  Here  he  laughed 
uncomfortably,  and  rubbed  his  nose  with  the  bowl 
of  his  pipe.  "An'  as  it  happens,  ma'am,  I  feared 
her  so  much  that  I  told  the  lady's  maid,  who  turned 
out  a  fairly  comfortable  sort, of  woman,  an'  would 
sometimes  come  an'  drink  a  glass  of  whisky  with 
me  in  my  own  little  room,  that  if  ever  I  got  free  of 
my  lady  I'd  marry  her  and  live  a  farmer's  life  with 
the  park  gates  locked  against  all  the  damned  world." 

When  he  uttered  this  last  sentence,  which  he  did 
with  an  uneasy  expression  in  his  blinking  eyes,  and 
many  a  quick  sidelong  glance  at  his  auditor,  the  earl 
puffed  hard  at  his  pipe  and  felt  that  he  might  per- 
haps have  led  up  to  this  great  and  central  point  in 
his  confession  with  more  tact  and  diplomacy.  He 
was  confirmed  in  this  view  by  Mrs.  Mersey's  com- 
ment. 

"Well,"  said  that  old  lady,  rolling  her  umbrella 
slowly  up  and  down  her  lap,  "to  think  that  a  hard- 
headed  man  like  you  should  be  such  an  idiot!  I 
can't  help  it ;  I  must  say  it.  You're  a  nobleman,  and 
you  sit  in  the  House  of  Lords,  and  you're  as  high 
above  me  as  the  monument  is  above  Billingsgate 
Market,  but  say  it  I  must.  Weak,  weak,  weak! 
Dreadfully  weak." 

She  was  interrupted  at  this  point  by  William,  who 
entered  the  room  bearing  a  great  silver  tray  loaded 
with  biscuit-box,  glasses,  and  a  jug  of  champagne. 
When  the  servant  had  retired,  Mrs.  Mersey  was 
about  to  begin  again  when  the  earl  interrupted  her. 


A  MORNING  CALL  215 

"But  after  I'd  made  the  promise,"  he  said  lamely, 
"I  saw  Hannah,  an'  fell  in  love  with  her,  an'  it  was 
for  her  sake,  not  the  other  woman's,  that  I  bowled 
the  countess  out.  Lord!  the  old  arrangement 
might  have  gone  on  till  I  was  in  the  tomb  for  all  the 
anxiety  I  felt  to  marry  the  other  woman!"  He 
laughed,  and  poured  out  a  glass  of  champagne. 
Handing  it  to  Mrs.  Mersey,  he  said :  "So  to  avoid 
that  servant  I  ran  away  a  second  time,  an'  I'm  not 
goin'  back  to  Kyn  till  I've  got  a  good  wife  an'  a 
damned  good  mother-in-law  to  bear  me  company. 
Ain't  that  clever,  now  ?" 

He  laughed  as  he  helped  himself  to  the  wine,  and 
set  the  jug  down  with  a  merry  clatter  on  the  tray. 
But  Mrs.  Mersey  was  sitting  with  staring  eyes  and 
gaping  mouth.  The  earl  caught  sight  of  the  face, 
and  all  the  merriment  went  from  his  heart. 

"What  the  devil's  the  matter  now  ?"  he  demanded. 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me,"  said  Mrs.  Mersey, 
"that  the  other  woman  is  still  in  your  house- 
hold?" 

The  earl  bit  his  lip.  Then  he  grinned,  and  after 
a  moment's  uncomfortable  silence  winked  knowingly 
at  his  mother-in-law.  "I  ain't  quite  such  a  fool  as 
that !"  he  said,  and  drained  off  his  glass.  "No,  not 
such  a  fool  as  that,"  he  repeated,  drawing  the  sleeve 
of  his  coat  across  his  mouth.  "Help  yourself  to 
biscuits,  an'  don't  spare  'em,"  he  said ;  "for  I  don't 
intend  to  be  economical  any  more  till  I'm  married. 
We're  on  the  spree,  all  of  us,  Hannah,  Kyn,  you,  an' 
me.  We'll  spill  money,  ma'am,  like  water,  and  if 


2l6  THE   FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

you  want  a  fifty-poun'  note  to  pay  off  bills,  ask  me 
for  it,  an'  don't  be  afraid." 

"But,  my  lord,"  said  Mrs.  Mersey,  over  her  un- 
tasted  champagne,  "what  is  the  reason  that  keeps 
you  from  going  to  Kyn  if  this  horrible,  wicked, 
good-for-nothing  woman  is  not  there?" 

The  earl  stamped  the  floor  with  his  foot,  and  shot 
an  angry  look  at  his  interlocutor.  "Why  in  the  dev- 
il's name  do  you  keep  on  proddin'  and  proddin'  an 
old  wound  ?  Damme,  I  want  to  forget  all  about  it. 
The  woman  lives  near  the  castle,  an'  she'd  throw 
herself  in  my  way  if  I  went  there.  Ain't  that 
enough?  Now,  for  God's  sake  let  the  matter  be." 

With  that  he  walked  over  to  the  tray  and  poured 
himself  out  another  glass  of  champagne. 

The  reader  will  guess  why  his  lordship  told  his 
shocking  tarradiddle  to  his  mother-in-law.  But  he 
may,  perhaps,  wonder  why  he  did  not  rid  himself  of 
this  incubus  of  a  housekeeper,  nay,  why  he  had  not 
done  so  long  ago.  It  is  the  old  story  of  a  strong 
mind  and  a  weak  mind.  My  lord  could  bully  a  cab- 
man, as  Hannah  had  once  seen,  as  well  as  the  most 
blustering  skinflint  under  heaven.  He  could  brag 
and  swagger  and  shake  his  fist  with  the  best  of  them, 
but  when  he  stood  no  longer  on  the  elevation  of  his 
dignity,  but  was  brought  face  to  face  with  those  who 
cared  no  more  for  his  title  or  wealth  than  they  did 
for  his  hard  words,  my  lord  was  an  altogether  dif- 
ferent creature.  His  little  explosions  of  temper 
served  him  no  purpose  here,  and  the  weakness  and 
indecision  of  his  character  left  him  an  easy  prey  to 


A  MORNING  CALL  217 

any  stronger  and  more  resolute  mind  opposed  to 
him.  Mrs.  Whittle,  too,  had  not  made  her  tyranny 
too  severely  felt.  She  had  enriched  herself  out  of 
the  countess's  lavish  entertainments,  and  only  now 
and  then  had  asked  the  earl,  or  should  we  say  de- 
manded from  him?  a  cheque  for  private  expenses. 
But  the  divorce  of  the  countess  offered  this  unscru- 
pulous woman  the  prospect  she  had  always  dreamed 
of.  She  knew  the  earl's  temperament,  knew  that  he 
was  a  farmer  at  heart,  knew  that  he  would  gladly 
share  his  home  with  a  hard-headed  woman  of  busi- 
ness who  would  live  his  own  life,  and  whose  whole 
character  denoted  antipathy  to  the  riotous  tastes  of 
his  doll-wife.  So  the  earl  feared  to  go  down  to  Kyn 
unmarried,  and  he  feared,  as  nine  men  out  of  ten 
fear,  a  scene  with  those  whom  they  had  wronged. 
Better,  thought  the  earl,  to  raise  her  wages,  keep 
her  in  the  same  post,  and,  with  the  company  of  my 
wife  and  mother-in-law  as  an  excuse,  shun  her  so- 
ciety. 

Is  there  anything  extravagant  here?  Ask  the 
merchant  whether  he  does  not  dislike  sending  the 
meanest  of  his  clerks  about  his  business ;  the  mis- 
tress whether  it  is  not  with  her  heart  going  pit-a- 
pat  that  she  tells  the  cook  that  she  is  "thinking  of 
making  a  change."  Yes,  all  of  us  dislike  scenes; 
all  of  us  hate  doing  unpleasant  things.  Some  of  us 
pay  the  cabman  a  shilling  more  than  his  fare,  in 
order  to  avoid  the  moment's  abuse  of  a  creature  we 
shall  never  see  again.  Some  of  us  sit  silent  in  om- 
nibuses when  a  conductor  is  rude  to  a  lady  passen- 


2l8  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

ger  rather  than  take  part  in  a  scene.  It  is  man's 
nature,  I  think — this  fear  of  the  unpleasant.  And 
when  the  person  we  ought  to  get  rid  of,  ought  to 
deal  sternly  with,  is  one  we  have  wronged,  and  a 
woman,  then  the  very  bravest  of  us  is  a  coward, 
and  prefers  to  live  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice  rather 
than  take  the  one  bold  step  that  will  rid  him  of  the 
danger. 


XVII 

FIXING  THE  DAY 

ONE  of  Lord  Escott's  clubs  did  not  number 
Mr.  Bolt  among  its  members,  and  it  was  to 
this  establishment  that  the  young  marquess  bent  his 
steps  on  the  same  morning  which  found  Mrs.  Mer- 
sey calling  upon  the  earl.  Going  to  the  morning- 
room,  Lord  Escott  wrote  out  a  check  for  a  thou- 
sand pounds,  scribbled  a  note  to  Oliver  saying  that 
the  money  might  be  paid  back  at  his  convenience, 
and  then  rose  to  drop  the  letter  in  the  box.  As  he 
did  so  he  came  face  to  face  at  the  door  with  Sir 
Michael  Dulverton.  The  boy  colored,  then  with  his 
frank,  winning  smile  extended  his  hand.  Dulverton, 
surprised  by  the  kindliness  of  the  greeting,  smiled 
also  and  shook  Escott's  hand.  Then  they  sat  down. 
It  was  their  first  meeting  since  the  affair  at  Kyn 
Castle. 

They  talked  of  everyday  affairs  till  the  conversa- 
tion turned  upon  Sir  Michael's  movements.  He 
mentioned  Slee-Marly,  his  estate  near  Kyn.  "I 
should  like  to  see  that  neighborhood  again,"  said 
Escott,  thinking  of  Miss  Haddon.  "When  you 
have  a  bed  to  spare  will  you  think  of  me?" 

He  made  this  speech  very  prettily,  and  Sir 
Michael,  thinking  that  the  boy  desired  to  express 

219 


220  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

sympathy  with  him,  was  touched.  "There  is  always 
a  bed  to  spare,"  he  said,  smiling;  "but  I  fear  you 
would  find  us  rather  dull.  My  mother  and  I  are 
quiet,  old-fashioned  people;  our  entertainments 
never  exceed  a  garden  party;  there  is  no  roulette, 
no  trente  et  quarante!" 

Escott  colored.  "To  tell  you  the  truth,  Sir 
Michael,  I'm  rather  sick  of  that  sort  of  thing,"  he 
said,  in  the  tone  of  a  modern  well-bred  penitent. 

"I'm  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  Dulverton  answered ; 
"you  were  made  for  much  better  things.  Men  like 
Mr.  Bolt  play  the  devil  with  one's  ideas  of  right  and 
wrong." 

Escott  twiddled  the  letter  between  his  fingers  and 
looked  down.  "He's  rather  a  bore,  is  old  Olley,"  he 
said.  "One  gets  a  little  tired  of  his  philosophy  and 
his  poetry." 

Dulverton  laughed.  "I  once  tasted  the  poetry/" 
he  said,  "but  my  palate  is  innocent  of  his  philosophy. 
What  is  it?" 

Escott  crossed  his  legs  and  looked  into  Dulver- 
ton's  eyes.  "I  suppose,"  he  said,  "that  to  a  clever 
fellow  like  you  it  will  seem  awful  rot,  but  there  was 
a  time  when  it  appealed  to  me — appealed  to  my 
worse  me.  It's  the  philosophy  of  Epicurus,  I  think, 
flavored  with  modern  sauces.  He  has  no  right  and 
no  wrong,  so  far  as  I  can  gather,  and  his  only  pre- 
cept is,  'Enjoy  the  present/  A  sort  of  Omar,  with- 
out the  melancholy.  It's  founded  on  the  impossibil- 
ity of  ever  knowing  anything  about  the  soul  or  the 
Creator,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 


A   MORNING   CALL  221 

"Does  the  modern  sauce  quite  kill  the  musty 
flavor  ?"  laughed  Dulverton.  "This  philosophic  pie, 
my  dear  Escott,  is  a  very  stale  one,  isn't  it  ?  I  don't 
think  even  Mr.  Bolt  has  ever  got  his  knife  quite 
through  the  crust.  Take  my  advice  and  eat  from 
other  dishes.  Everyone  has  his  moments  of  doubt, 
everyone  has  sometimes  despaired.  But  there  are 
two  things  that  endure :  We  are  only  really  happy 
when  we  are  living  our  best  lives;  we  are  only 
really  miserable  when  we  are  living  our  worst. 
That  is  not  only  the  real  philosophy  of  Epicurus,  it 
has  the  additional  advantage  of  being  the  religion 
of  Christ.  Let  your  wise  philosophers  tear  those 
axioms  to  tatters  how  they  will,  the  truths  will  re- 
main behind."  He  got  up  with  a  light  laugh  and 
gave  Escott  his  hand. 

The  boy  looked  into  Dulverton's  eyes  while  he 
held  his  hand.  "I  should  like  more  than  I  can  tell 
you  to  come  and  spend  a  few  days  at  Slee-Marly," 
he  said  simply. 

"Come,  then,  my  dear  fellow.  I  shall  be  really 
delighted.  We  can  play  tennis  when  the  sun  shines, 
and  when  it  rains  we  can  borrow  the  woodman's  axe 
and  hack  our  way  clean  through  the  crust  of  Bolt's 
pie  to  the  inverted  egg-cup  below!"  He  paused 
suddenly  "By  the  way,"  he  added,  speaking  very 
quietly,  "you  may  perhaps  think  my  animus  is  in- 
spired by  Mr.  Bolt's  appearance  in  the " 

"No,  no!"  cried  the  generous  youth.  "I  know 
thundering  well  that  to  a  man  like  you  Bolt  must 
always  have  seemed  a  prig  and  a  bounder." 


222  THE    FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

Dulverton  was  touched  by  Escott's  gentle  expres- 
sion of  faith  in  his  innocence.  He  looked  at  the 
youth,  and  wondered  whether  it  would  be  wise  to 
ask  him  the  question  he  was  longing  to  put  to  some- 
body who  might  possess  the  information  he  re- 
quired. In  the  fresh  face  of  the  young  marquess, 
from  which  all  the  weary  boredom  had  now  quite 
vanished,  he  read  honesty  and  simplicity;  he  felt, 
too,  that  the  boy  was  really  growing  sick  of  Bolt 
and  the  vulgarity  of  the  society  in  which  he  had 
unfortunately  mixed  himself,  that  he  sincerely  de- 
sired to  cultivate  better  people.  So  he  put  his  ques- 
tion. 

"Have  you  heard,  Escott,"  he  said,  "whether 
there  is  any  truth  in  the  story  about  Lord  Mane?" 

"You  mean  the  new  marriage?  I  can  only  tell 
you  that  when  I  was  with  Bolt  last  night" — he 
laughed  at  the  mention  of  that  name — "we  hap- 
pened to  turn  in  for  half  an  hour  at  a  music-hall, 
and  going  in  we  saw  Lord  Mane,  the  governess,  and 
an  old  lady  at  the  pay-box.  Bolt  caught  me  by  the 
arm,  and  made  me  wait  till  they  had  walked  through 
to  the  lounge ;  he  was  devilishly  excited  about  it  for 
some  reason  or  other." 

Escott  could  not  help  noticing  that  Dulverton  was 
devilishly  excited  too. 

"Yes,  and  what  happened  ?"  asked  the  baronet. 

"Well,  Olley  righted  himself,  and  suggested  that 
we  should  play  a  trick  on  the  old  boy.  So  we  went 
in,  and  hovered  about  them,  till  Olley  asked  me  to 
go  with  him  and  talk  to  the  girl  as  if  we  had  had 


FIXING    THE    DAY  223 

some  fun  with  her  at  Kyn,  ignoring  old  Mane  alto- 
gether. It  was  rather  a  doubtful  thing  to  do,  but 
somehow  or  other  I  consented." 

"Did  you?"  said  Dulverton,  with  the  least  sug- 
gestion of  contempt  in  his  voice.  Escott  colored, 
and  twiddled  his  letter  still  more  violently  in  his 
fingers. 

"We  had  eaten  dinner  together,  and  Bolt  had 
made  me  rather  desperate.  I  felt  sick  of  everything, 
and  in  a  sort  of  devil-may-care  frame  of  mind.  I 
was  a  damned  fool,  in  fact,"  he  added,  with  a  frank 
laugh. 

"Well?" 

"Up  we  went,  then,  and  greeted  the  girl  rather 
merrily.  She  seemed  utterly  surprised,  and  after  a 
moment  Bolt  turned  round  and  said  something  to 
old  Mane.  They  seemed  to  be  having  a  row,  while 
I  talked  to  Miss  What-you-may-call-it,  and  soon 
afterwards  we  left  them.  That  was  all." 

"Did  Bolt  say  anything  to  you  as  you  went 
away  ?" 

"He  said  something  about  putting  a  spoke  in  the 
wheel  of  the  governess'  cart,  and  added  that  it  was  a 
beastly  shame  old  Mane  should  marry  again.  I 
think  that  was  all.  He  seemed  thundering  well 
pleased  with  himself." 

Dulverton  had  listened  with  the  greatest  atten- 
tion to  the  recital  of  this  story.  His  lips  were 
firmly  shut,  his  eyes  wore  their  fixed,  concentrated 
expression,  and  he  leaned  slightly  forward  as  if  to 
catch  every  word.  At  the  end  he  moved  away.  "I 


224  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

suppose,  then,"  he  said,  "the  engagement  is  a  real- 
ity." 

"Everyone  seems  to  think  so.  The  governess 
must  be  rather  pleased  with  herself." 

"Yes." 

"She's  rather  a  nice  girl,  quiet  and  modest  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"Yes." 

"You  remember  her  singing  that  night?  An 
awful  pretty  song  about  roses ;  it  still  runs  in  my 
head." 

"Yes,  I  remember."  Sir  Michael  was  looking  out 
of  the  windows. 

After  a  pause  Escott  moved  to  the  door.  "Then 
I  may  really  come  and  see  you,  Sir  Michael  ?" 

The  question  seemed  to  rouse  Dulverton.  "Yes, 
do.  Come  on  Saturday,  and  stay  as  long  as  you 
like." 

Saturday!  The  day  before  Sunday!  The  day 
when  he  would  go  to  the  little  village  church  and 
see  Beatrice  Haddon!  Escott  expressed  gratitude 
for  the  invitation  with  an  enthusiasm  that  surprised 
Dulverton.  And  then  when  the  two  men  had  said 
good-by,  Escott  dropped  his  letter  to  Oliver  Bolt 
in  the  box,  and  went  off  to  dream  of  Beatrice. 

And  now  it  is  time  to  look  once  more  at  our  clever 
actress.  She  has  been  acting  beautifully,  superbly. 
To  all  Lord  Mane's  remarks  on  the  animals  in  the 
Zoological  Gardens  she  listened  with  keen  intelli- 
gence, now  smiling,  now  laughing  softly,  now  bend- 
ing on  his  lordship  looks  of  admiration  for  his 


FIXING   THE   DAY  225 

learning,  now  looks  of  childlike  affection  which 
made  the  old  gentleman  as  proud  as  the  llama  with 
a  babe  at  its  side.  Such  a  happy  party  never  vis- 
ited the  gardens  before.  Lord  Mane  liberally  tipped 
the  attendant  in  charge  of  the  bears,  and  the  com- 
pany was  treated  to  a  royal  performance  by  those 
burly  comedians.  Kyn  forgot  all  about  fairies,  lost 
something  of  his  melancholy,  as  first  one  bear  rat- 
tled with  his  foot  the  loose  bottom  rail  for  buns,  then 
another,  for  the  same  bait,  folded  his  paws  in  a  sup- 
plicating posture,  while  a  third  moved  the  company 
to  laughter  by  knocking  peremptorily  on  the  floor 
with  eyes  fixed  upon  Kyn's  bag  of  buns.  Then 
there  was  the  bear  who  danced  with  grinning  mouth 
and  lifted  arms,  also  the  bear  who  turned  head  over 
heels,  and  the  bear  who  climbed  nimbly  up  a  pole 
and  clung  to  the  top,  catching  buns  that  Hannah 
pitched  deftly  into  his  open  mouth. 

Clever,  clever  Hannah!  Inspired  first  by  the 
carriage  and  pair  that  was  waiting  outside  Kyn 
House  when  she  arrived,  then  by  the  earl's  warm 
greeting,  the  champagne,  the  rattle  of  money  in 
those  old  fawn-colored  trousers  of  his,  Hannah 
acted  with  amazing  abandon.  Had  you  peeped  into 
the  library  at  Kyn  House,  and  seen  that  beautiful 
Madonna  face  turned  (reverentially)  with  innocent 
pleasure  first  to  Lord  Mane,  then  (dutifully)  to  her 
mother,  and  then  (maternally)  to  little  Kyn,  while 
she  evinced  such  childlike  pleasure  at  the  prospect 
of  a  day  in  the  Zoological  Gardens — you,  dear 
reader,  would  have  said,  "She  is  no  hypocrite,  my 


226  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

life  on  it."  And  Lord  Mane,  being  far  less  astute 
than  you,  gave  in  his  heart  more  emphatic  testimony 
to  the  virtue  of  Hannah.  He  had  never  realized 
before  how  sweetly  ingenuous  she  was,  how  ex- 
quisitely modulated  was  her  voice,  how  full  of  rich 
life  her  soft  cheek,  how  altogether  lovely  the  lus- 
trous eyes  under  their  dark  lashes.  He  put  from  his 
mind  all  thought  of  those  passionate  love-letters  in 
his  writing-table;  banished,  too,  all  remembrance 
of  his  rencontre  with  Oliver  Bolt  at  the  music-hall, 
and  gave  himself  completely  up  to  the  pleasure  of 
his  priceless  possession.  He  rattled  his  money  and 
promised  his  guests  long  days  of  delight.  He  swore 
that  they  would  suck  London's  orange  dry  ere  they 
retired  from  the  civic  banquet.  He  chuckled,  he 
ogled,  he  boasted,  he  rubbed  his  red  hands  together, 
he  even  kissed  Hannah  when  he  carried  her  the 
wine. 

And  Hannah!  Never  before  had  she  seen  her 
lord  in  so  repulsive  a  mood;  never  had  his  de- 
meanor so  chilled  her  life-blood;  never  had  his 
"love"  clashed  so  discordantly  on  the  chords  of  her 
being.  But  the  prospect  of  enjoying  his  title  with 
dignity,  of  possessing  money  as  well  as  title,  gave 
new  zest  to  her  ambition,  and  she  played  her  part 
with  shining  eyes,  smiling  lips,  and  all  that  sweet 
maidenly  air  of  simplicity  that  was,  in  the  earl's  eyes 
at  least,  her  chief est  attraction.  "So  do  we  greet 
those  we  detest  in  our  heart,"  she  said  to  herself ; 
"so  does  the  doctor  affect  tender  solicitude  for  his 
patient ;  so  does  the  tradesman  end  a  lying,  cheat- 


FIXING   THE  DAY  227 

ing  letter  with  a  protestation  of  faith.  Yes !  from 
the  'Dear  Sir'  to  the  'Faithfully  yours' — it  is  all  a 
lie,  all  a  struggle  to  get  the  better  of  another,  to 
attain  one's  own  end."  And  in  her  heart  she 
laughed  unhappily,  and  turned  those  large  solemn 
eyes  of  hers,  overflowing  with  love,  full  on  the 
blinking,  twitching  face  of  the  little  old  man  who 
waited  on  her. 

Mrs.  Mersey  was  delighted  with  her  daughter. 
"At  last,"  thought  she,  "Hannah  realizes  the  honor 
that  is  hers,  and  the  true  worth  of  this  good  and 
noble  man."  So,  as  we  have  said,  the  party  was  a 
happy  one,  and  only  the  shrunken,  white-faced  child, 
glancing  from  one  to  the  other,  appeared  to  be  un- 
touched by  the  magician's  wand. 

But  at  the  Zoological  Gardens  even  he  shook  off 
melancholy;  and  here  the  earl's  happiness  reached 
its  highest  point.  Never  before  in  his  miserable  life 
had  the  old  man  tasted  joy  so  deeply.  Those  crav- 
ings in  his  heart  for  sympathy  and  simple  pleasures 
were  at  last  answered  to  the  full.  His  niggardliness 
vanished,  his  new-found  generosity  increased,  he 
moved  about  like  one  in  a  dream.  Every  now  and 
then,  as  the  party  paused  to  examine  one  of  the  ani- 
mals, he  would  press  nearer  to  Hannah,  lay  his  hand 
upon  her  arm,  and  ask  with  a  chuckle  if  she  were 
happy.  Then  would  the  girl  turn  eagerly  from  the 
cage  to  look  into  his  eyes.  "Never  so  happy  before." 

And  at  last,  when  Mrs.  Mersey  was  mounted  on 
the  back  of  an  elephant  with  Kyn  at  her  side,  the 
earl  spoke  openly  to  Hannah  of  their  marriage. 


228  THE   FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

They  were  sitting  under  the  trees,  a  few  yards  from 
the  noisy,  merry  crowds  of  children  awaiting  the 
elephant's  return.  Hannah's  eyes  were  fixed  in 
beautiful  interest  on  the  laughing  prattlers. 

"How  happy  they  are !"  she  exclaimed  gently. 

"I  can  only  think  of  my  own  happiness,"  said  the 
earl,  leaning  close  to  her  side.  "Damme,  I've  never 
felt  so  pleased  with  the  world  before.  We'll  get 
married  at  once ;  we'll  go  on  bein'  happy  like  this  to 
the  end  of  our  days ;  we'll  get  married  next  week, 
damn  me  if  we  won't." 

"Next  week !"  cried  Hannah,  lowering  her  eyes. 
"Oh,  no,  not  next  week;  it's  too  soon.  You  must 
give  me  a  little  time." 

"What,  in  the  devil's  name,  do  you  want  time 
for?"  demanded  Lord  Mane.  "Ain't  you  quite  sure 
that  you  want  to  marry  me?" 

"My  dear  lord,"  Hannah  answered,  "you  cannot 
doubt  that.  You  must  know — you  must  feel — that 
I  long  for  the  peace  of  Kyn  Castle,  and  the  joys  of 
our  life  together.  But  there  are  other  things  to  be 
thought  of." 

"Are  there,  now  ?"  he  said,  smiling  in  deep  satis- 
faction. "An'  what  are  they,  my  pretty  blackbird  ?" 

"My  mother  must  make  her  arrangements  about 
money,"  she  answered,  looking  wistfully  before  her. 
"I  have  few  clothes,  and  none  of  them — though  I 
have  no  desire  for  the  mere  show  of  dress — is  con- 
sistent with  your  dignity." 

"Damn  it !"  cried  the  earl,  "look  at  me !  These 
clothes,"  he  added,  looking  proudly  first  at  his 


FIXING   THE   DAY  229 

sleeves  and  then  at  his  trousers,  "have  been  my  best 
suit  ever  since  I  married.  On  my  oath  they  have !" 

Hannah  smiled  sweetly.  "You  can  afford  to  wear 
what  you  will,"  she  said,  "but  I — coming  to  the 
castle  as  your  bride — must  not  appear  in  the  clothes 
of  a  governess — a  servant.  I  am  too  proud  of  your 
name  for  that ;  I  would  rather  delay  our  marriage  a 
year  than  begin  our  life  in  that  fashion." 

The  earl  tilted  his  old  hat  still  farther  over  his 
eyes,  and  swung  one  little  leg  across  the  other.  Han- 
nah's flattery,  her  gentle  tribute  to  his  dignity,  could 
not  but  please  a  man  so  long  used  to  groan  under  the 
despotism  of  one  who  despised  him. 

"If  you  want  peacock's  feathers,"  he  said,  "you 
shall  have  'em.  Yes,  damned  if  you  shan't.  An'  I'll 
pay  for  'em,  an'  you  shall  wear  'em  in  London,  for  I 
mean  to  stay  here  a  week  or  two  an'  enjoy  myself." 

Hannah's  heart  beat  for  joy.  She  could  hardly 
speak. 

"Ain't  you  pleased?  Ain't  you  goin'  to  say  'Ta,' 
like  a  good  girl?"  the  earl  demanded,  with  a 
chuckle. 

"You  are  very  generous,"  said  Hannah,  "and  it 
will  be  very  nice  to  see  London  under  your  protec- 
tion, but — well,  I  shall  be  happier  at  Kyn!"  She 
turned  her  eyes  upon  him  full  of  sweet  love  and 
tender  reverence. 

"You're  a  woman  in  a  thousand,"  cried  the  earl. 
"How  many  women  would  prefer  the  farm-yard  to 
St.  James's?  But  you  shall  see  the  world  before 
you  look  over  my  pigsties.  I'll  show  it  to  you.  I'll 


230  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

dress  you  in  peacock's  feathers,  I'll  give  you  the 
family  diamonds,  an'  I'll  take  you  about  an'  make 
the  world  smile  at  your  pretty  feet.  An'  then,  Han, 
when  we're  sick  of  the  damned  show,  when  our 
lungs  are  stuffed  with  fog  an'  smoke,  we'll  go  back 
to  the  country  an'  laugh  over  our  wood  fires  at  the 
damned  fools  wastin'  their  lives  in  these  confounded 
streets." 

Hannah  listened  with  eager  heart.  She  leaned  for- 
ward in  her  chair,  with  the  point  of  her  umbrella 
carving  lines  and  crosses  in  the  thick  gravel-dust; 
her  face  was  partially  hidden  from  the  earl,  but  he 
could  see  the  proud,  happy  smile  on  her  strong,  red 
lips,  the  heightened  color  in  her  dusky  cheek.  He 
looked  at  her  admiringly,  striking  his  leg  every  now 
and  then  with  his  stick.  So  they  remained ;  the  one 
thinking  of  her  ambition's  realization,  the  other  in- 
toxicated with  his  possession  of  a  simple,  unspoiled 
nature. 

In  this  position  Mrs.  Mersey  found  them  on  her 
return  with  Kyn.  As  she  approached,  the  little  boy, 
holding  her  hand,  looked  up  in  her  face  and  half 
stopped  her  in  her  forward  march. 

"What's  the  matter,  my  dear?"  she  asked,  taking1 
her  eyes  from  Hannah  and  looking  down  at  the 
child. 

"I  want  to  ask  a  question,"  he  answered.  "May 
my  father  have  two  wives?" 

Mrs.  Mersey  stopped  dead.  "Your  mother,  dear 
child,  has  gone  away;  she  will  never  come  back 
again,  and  so  your  father  is  going  to  give  you  a  new 


FIXING   THE   DAY  231 

mother,  and  there  she  sits  at  his  side.  Aren't  you 
glad,  now,"  she  added  briskly,  "that  you  are  going 
to  have  such  a  nice,  kind,  loving  mother  ?" 

The  boy  hung  his  head  as  they  resumed  their 
walk.  "I  hope  my  real  mother  is  happy,"  he  said. 
And  then  they  joined  the  happy  earl  and  the  still 
happier  Hannah. 


XVIII 

THE   CURTAIN   RINGS  UP 

IT  is  now  high  time  to  inquire  how  fares  the 
black-browed  Mrs.  Whittle  in  the  dreary  splen- 
dor of  her  deserted  castle.  To  her,  every  day  of 
the  earl's  absence  was  a  turn  of  the  rack  on  which 
her  aching  body  was  stretched.  His  last  words  to 
her  had  been,  as  the  reader  will  remember,  "Go  to 
the  devil !"  delivered  with  excellent  courage  through 
a  stout  oak  door.  Instructions  as  to  the  disposition 
of  Kyn  and  Miss  Mersey  had  reached  her  by  Wil- 
liam Budge  in  the  form  of  a  letter  after  the  earl's 
hurried  departure  for  London.  Other  letters  had 
passed  between  my  lord  and  his  housekeeper  since 
that  day,  of  which  it  is  now  the  author's  duty  to 
apprise  his  reader.  But,  it  may  be  said  at  once,  that 
every  letter  had  only  added  to  the  woman's  torture, 
and  had  but  fanned  the  embers  of  hatred  and  malice 
in  her  heart  to  something  very  near  white  heat. 

Mrs.  Whittle  was  in  this  predicament.  With  the 
earl  before  her  she  could  have  assumed  so  threaten- 
ing a  port  as  to  cow  the  weak  will  of  her  lord  into 
granting  her  request — the  fulfilment  of  his  prom- 
ise. But  she  knew  full  well,  and  by  experience,  that 
the  most  cowardly  may  possess  the  valor  of  a  Hector 
when  defiance  is  hurled  at  him  by  letter,  and  from  a 

232 


THE    CURTAIN    RINGS   UP  233 

safe  distance.  She  had  tried  this  course,  when  a 
long  much-underlined  letter  reached  her  from  Mr. 
Oliver  Bolt  asking  for  Dick  Brough's  letters  to  Han- 
nah, informing  her  at  the  same  time  of  the  rumor 
that  the  earl  intended  to  marry  the  governess.  With 
tigerish  anger  the  woman  had  written  incontinently 
to  the  earl  reminding  him  of  his  promise,  refusing 
to  credit  the  report  of  his  engagement,  and  announc- 
ing her  determination  to  call  upon  him  in  London 
if  he  did  not  instantly  write  and  give  the  rumor  the 
lie.  My  lord's  answer  was  brief.  It  ran:  "My 
servant  has  a  letter  for  you  if  you  call  at  Kyn 
House.  It  contains  a  cheque  for  a  month's  wages 
and  your  dismissal."  That  was  all,  and  with  the 
receipt  of  this  letter  fell  the  housekeeper's  dream  of 
possessing  control  of  the  earl's  coffers. 

But  she  still  hoped,  albeit  with  sickening  heart 
and  aching  brain,  that  the  earl  might  yet  return  un- 
married to  the  castle.  She  awaited  the  letters  every 
morning,  day  after  day,  week  after  week,  month 
after  month,  with  feverish  impatience,  longing  for 
some  word  from  his  lordship  which  should  bid  her 
hope  anew.  But  the  answers  that  she  received  to 
her  letters,  concerning  the  management  of  the  castle, 
contained  little  more  than  grumbles  as  to  the  ex- 
penses she  was  incurring. 

"Don't  forget,"  he  wrote  on  one  occasion,  "that 
going  to  law,  even  about  a  wife,  costs  money.  I've 
none  too  much  to  spare,  and  shan't  have,  either, 
for  many  a  year  to  come.  Tell  Criddle  to  get  rid 
of  a  couple  of  the  gardeners,  and  you  must  do  with 


234  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

a  maid  the  less."  Then  she  would  write  letters  about 
the  farm,  about  the  yearlings,  the  cows  in  calf,  the 
last  litter  of  pigs,  the  sheep,  the  brood  mares,  the 
crops,  and  the  poultry.  Long  wistful  letters  they 
were — letters  which  she  fondly  hoped  would  move 
the  earl's  bucolic  heart  to  thoughts  of  his  beloved 
stock,  and  bring  him  back  to  the  farm  by  express 
train.  But  Mrs.  Whittle,  like  many  another  hypo- 
crite, could  not  sustain  her  part  with  a  pen,  and 
these  letters  only  made  the  earl  chuckle  and  squeak 
to  himself  that  of  all  the  damned  silly  designing 
women  old  Whittle  was  the  stupidest.  The  answers 
she  received  to  these  pathetic  epistles  were,  how- 
ever, kind,  and  even  suggested  hope  that  her  dream 
might  yet  be  realized.  "When  I  open  your  letters," 
he  wrote  once,  "I  smell  the  cowsheds  and  pigsties ; 
London  smells  like  a  stale  egg."  And  on  another 
occasion:  "You  should  take  to  painting,  Whittle; 
you've  got  an  eye  for  color."  So  the  woman  nursed 
the  dying  hope  at  her  breast,  straining  it  to  her 
heart  through  the  long  watches  of  the  night,  and 
feeding  it  through  the  dreary  friendless  days  on 
these  mocking  scraps  thrown  to  her  from  the  earl 
in  London. 

One  blustering  autumn  day,  when  the  trees,  like  a 
terrified  host  flying  from  an  avenging  enemy,  seemed 
to  be  breaking  before  the  wind — flinging  up  their 
arms,  bowing  their  faces  to  the  dust ;  when  the  grass 
in  the  meadows  trembled  and  struggled  under  the 
shrieking  blast;  when  leaves  were  whirled  like  a 
flock  of  birds  into  the  leaden  sky,  or  bowled  over 


THE    CURTAIN    RINGS    UP  235 

the  shaven  lawns  of  the  gardens  in  a  wild,  ceaseless 
procession, — a  day,  in  brief,  ominous  to  those  with 
secret  thoughts  and  over-loaded  conscience — Mrs. 
Whittle  received  the  blow  that  shattered  her  hopes, 
and  transformed  her  from  the  dumb,  silent  sufferer, 
to  a  tigerish  spirit  thirsting  for  revenge. 

She  had  risen  early  and  gone  about  her  duties 
with  her  old  mechanical  thoroughness  (a  thorough- 
ness which  kept  that  huge  castle  spick  and  span  with 
three  servants),  and  had  retired  to  her  room  to 
watch  from  the  window  the  arrival  of  the  letters. 
The  wind  that  roared  down  the  chimney  oppressed 
her  with  premonitions  of  trouble;  the  trees  bowing 
and  swaying  in  the  gusty  blast  warned  her  of  dan- 
ger. She  looked  over  the  park  and  gardens,  agitated 
as  they  were  into  wild  commotion  by  the  furious 
wind  that  sent  tremendous  clouds  scudding  across 
the  heavens,  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  gray  drive, 
up  which  at  even-  instant  a  great  pillar  of  dust  was 
driven  with  incredible  fury.  In  the  dim  distance 
she  could  see  the  bend  in  the  drive  that  led  direct 
to  the  great  iron  gates,  and  it  was  upon  this  point 
that  she  fixed  her  cold  eyes,  with  her  hands  clasped 
slackly  together  in  front  of  her.  Through  the  storm 
of  dust  and  whirling  leaves  she  looked  at  that  point, 
convinced  in  her  mind  that  to-day's  letter  would  be 
different  from  all  the  rest,  that  her  fate  would  be 
decided  by  its  import.  She  was  turning  over  these 
dreadful  forebodings  in  her  heart,  when  a  cloud 
of  dust,  like  the  smoke  of  cannon,  rolled  suddenly 
from  the  drive,  and  she  descried,  walking  towards 


236  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

the  castle  with  bent  head,  the  boy  who  brought  the 
letter-bag  from  the  lodge.  A  sharp  cry  escaped  her, 
and  she  turned  away  from  the  window.  The  wind 
whistled  mockingly  down  the  chimney,  a  pack  of 
leaves  was  hurled  patteringly  against  the  pane.  She 
stood  in  the  center  of  the  room,  waiting. 

A  thousand  thoughts  tore  her  mind.  She  would 
never  marry  the  earl.  She  would  remain  there  as 
servant  to  her  life's  end.  Her  child  would  fight 
life's  battle  penniless.  She  would  see  another  in- 
stalled as  mistress  at  the  castle.  The  woman  to 
whom  she  had  shown  open  and  undisguised  enmity 
would  return  to  rule  over  her.  All  her  dreams  had 
come  to  naught.  Her  long  patience  was  mocked 
when  reward  was  almost  within  touch  of  her  hands. 
She  had  waited,  and  toiled,  and  planned  all  these 
years — for  naught. 

She  turned,  with  scowling  eyes  and  clenched  lips, 
to  the  window.  The  trees  seemed  to  blow  across 
the  landscape  as  she  looked  out  upon  the  scene. 
Everything  seemed  to  be  falling  and  breaking.  The 
sturdy  boy,  blown  along  by  the  gale,  was  dimly 
seen  in  a  mist  of  powdery  dust.  He  was  nearer 
now — much  nearer.  By  the  time  she  reached  the 
servants'  hall  he  would  be  knocking  on  the  door. 
But  she  did  not  stir.  She  stood  watching  his  ap- 
proach, like  one  in  a  dream,  thinking  her  own 
thoughts  that  concerned  not  the  boy  or  his  letter- 
bag. 

Presently  he  turned  off  at  the  side  path  leading 
to  the  back  of  the  castle,  but  she  still  kept  her  vigil 


THE    CURTAIN    RINGS   UP  237 

at  the  window,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  distant  bend 
of  the  drive  at  which  he  had  first  appeared.  So  she 
stood  till  a  knock  on  her  door  roused  the  distracted 
creature  from  her  reverie.  She  sat  down  hurriedly 
at  the  table,  covered  with  her  books,  seized  a  pen 
and  bade  the  servant  enter. 

She  continued  to  pore  over  her  books  while  the 
girl  set  down  the  bag,  and  maintained  this  attitude 
till  the  door  was  closed.  Then  she  dragged  her 
keys  from  the  pocket  of  her  dress,  opened  the  bag, 
and  tumbled  its  contents  pell-mell  upon  the  table. 
With  trembling  fingers  she  sorted  the  letters,  send- 
ing them  to  the  right  and  left  of  her,  till  she  reached 
the  one  for  which  she  sought — the  one  she  had 
known  would  arrive  that  morning.  She  tore  open 
the  envelope,  like  an  eagle  rending  its  prey,  and 
clumsily  pulled  out  the  letter.  Then,  bending  over 
the  table,  she  devoured  its  contents.  Not  a  cry 
escaped  her  as  sne  read,  but  her  face  became  ashen 
gray;  the  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes,  and  her  lips 
that  had  been  so  firmly  compressed,  twitched  and 
shuddered  in  the  violence  of  her  grief.  What  she 
had  dreaded  had  come  to  pass;  her  presage  of  evil 
was  fulfilled  to  its  very  limits. 

This  was  the  letter  she  read : — 

"DEAR  WHITTLE, — When  this  reaches  you  I  shall 
be  a  married  man  again.  Miss  Mersey,  who  has 
been  little  Lord  Kyn's  mother,  will  be  Countess  of 
Mane.  Alterations  of  this  kind  affect  more  than 
the  man  and  woman  concerned.  They  affect  the 
household,  and  particularly  old  and  trusty  servants. 
So  I  write  to  know  whether  you  would  like  to  stay 


238  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

on  under  a  new  mistress,  with  a  rise  in  salary  of 
twenty  pounds  a  year,  or  retire  on  a  pension  of  £250, 
which  should  be  enough  for  you,  with  something  to 
save  for  the  son.  Think  it  over.  In  the  meantime 
we  shall  be  traveling  about,  and  shall  probably  not 
return  to  Kyn  Castle  for  six  months.  Letters  will 
be  forwarded.  "Yours  truly, 

"MANE." 

With  this  letter  the  starveling  hope  at  Mrs.  Whit- 
tle's breast  died  without  a  cry.  She  sat  over  the 
table,  her  lips  twitching,  her  eyes  heavy  with  sullen 
tears.  The  wind  roared  down  the  chimney,  the 
leaves  smote  against  the  window.  Outside  was  the 
anger  of  a  gale  spending  its  rude  force  in  wild  in- 
sensate fury ;  inside,  within  a  woman's  broken  heart, 
the  spirit  of  revenge  was  wakening  to  life. 

And  while  the  housekeeper  invented  schemes  for 
smiting  her  oppressor,  the  Earl  of  Mane  was  driving 
down  to  Clapham  in  a  cab  to  be  married  in  a  quiet 
suburban  church  to  the  governess  of  Lord  Kyn.  He 
was  in  a  good  humor,  and  frequently  chuckled  to 
himself  as  he  blinked  through  the  rain-drenched 
windows  on  the  pedestrians  fighting  their  way  along 
under  umbrellas  through  the  strong  wind.  He 
would  rub  his  hands  together,  stroke  his  chin,  sit 
suddenly  bolt  upright  with  an  expression  of  great 
gravity  on  his  face,  then  lean  forward — almost 
doubling  himself  in  two — to  laugh  and  mutter  to 
himself. 

And  Hannah,  in  a  morning  dress  of  great  magni- 
ficence— a  magnificence  that  appeared  through  all 
its  simplicity  and  somber  coloring,  sat  in  her 


THE    CURTAIN    RINGS    UP  239 

mother's  sitting-room,  buttoning  her  gloves  and 
glancing  every  now  and  then  towards  the  clock. 
She  looked  a  very  noble  lady — oddly  out  of  keeping 
with  the  furniture  of  the  room.  The  serious  expres- 
sion of  her  face  was  rather  heightened  than  de- 
creased by  her  splendid  apparel.  She  appeared 
taller,  stronger,  more  womanly  in  these  fine  clothes. 
The  simplicity  in  her  face,  the  saint-like  look  in  her 
eyes,  were  deepened.  One  might  have  passed  her 
in  the  street  yesterday  with  a  momentary  interest; 
to-day  one  would  have  turned  round  to  gaze  after 
her. 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Mersey,  arrayed,  too,  in 
somewhat  finer  raiment  than  was  her  wont,  "my 
dear,  you  look  for  all  the  world  what  you'll  be  in 
half  an  hour's  time — a  real,  live  countess!" 

"I  feel  the  part !"  Hannah  answered,  getting  up 
to  look  at  herself  in  the  glass.  "Yesterday  I  was 
like  an  actress  rehearsing  Lady  Macbeth  in  a  straw 
hat  and  a  blouse.  To-day  I  have  donned  my  royal 
robes ;  I  have  dressed  for  the  part."  She  laughed 
under  her  breath. 

"The  earl  will  be  proud  of  you !"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Mersey,  watching  her  daughter  with  brisk  interest 
and  open  admiration.  "Really,  Hannah,  I  had  no 
idea  until  to-day  what  a  handsome  girl  you  are." 

"Pay  the  same  compliment  to  my  beloved  hus- 
band when  he  arrives  in  his  wedding  garments.  Bless 
his  dear  little  ugly  face,  I  sometimes  feel  quite  fond 
of  him,  almost  as  if  I  could  kiss  him !  By  the  way, 


240  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

my  dear  mamma,  you  will  have  to  kiss  your  son-in- 
law  to-day." 

"What !"  cried  the  old  lady.  "Me  kiss  an  earl ! 
I'd  as  soon  send  a  valentine  to  the  German  Emperor. 
Bless  my  heart,  a  fine  liberty  that  would  be.  You 
don't  seem  to  realize  what  a  great  man  your  husband 
is." 

"Oh,  but  I  do !"  cried  Hannah,  with  a  light  laugh. 
"If  I  hadn't  realized  that,  over  and  over  again,  I 
shouldn't  be  wearing  this  frock  to-day.  Do  you 
think  I  have  married  him  for  his  yellow  hair,  or  his 
little  feet,  or  the  light  in  his  beautiful  eyes?" 

"Well,  of  all  the  brides  I  ever  met!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Mersey.  "Really,  Hannah,  I  don't  think  you 
quite  know  what  a  serious  service  you  are  going 
through  this  morning.  I  wish  you  would  remember 
that  marriage  is  a  religious  state,  and  that  you  are 
going  to  kneel  at  God's  altar  to " 

"Don't,  don't!"  cried  Hannah  impatiently.  "I 
am  going  to  kneel  at  the  altar  as  the  actresses  kneel 
in  the  cathedral  in  Faust.  I  am  playing  a  part,  and 
I  shall  play  it  with  reverence  and  skill." 

"Playing  a  part !"  Mrs.  Mersey  said.  "If  so,  you 
are  deceiving  the  earl  and  blaspheming  the  Church 
service." 

Hannah  looked  at  her  mother  with  open  con- 
tempt. "You  talk  nonsense,"  she  said  sharply.  "My 
part  is  to  make  the  earl  happy,  to  act  love  for  him  so 
well  that  he  will  believe  to  his  life's  end  that  I  love 
him,  and  by  that  love,  and  in  the  faith  of  that  love, 
to  live  as  peacefully  as  if  I  worshiped  him  body  and 


THE    CURTAIN    RINGS   UP  241 

soul.  Deceive  him !  I  should  be  guilty  if  I  married 
him  and  then  turned  upon  him  afterwards.  That 
would  be  failing  to  act  my  part.  But  I  shall  take 
care  to  sustain  my  benevolent  role  to  the  end.  You 
needn't  fear  a  scandal,  any  more  than  a  judgment 
from  Heaven  on  my  blasphenmy  of  the  Church  ser- 
vice!" 

She  spoke  hurriedly,  albeit  in  her  low  voice  the 
utterance  was  scornful ;  the  expression  of  her  search- 
ing eyes  was  contemptuous.  Mrs.  Mersey  had  never 
seen  her  in  this  mood  before;  she  gazed  up  at  her 
daughter  with  open  surprise,  her  eyes  wide,  her 
mouth  gaping.  When  the  torrent  of  words  ceased 
abruptly,  and  Hannah  turned  away,  she  jumped  to 
her  feet. 

"I  thought,"  she  said,  "you  were  a  good  woman, 
a  girl  who  believed  in  God  and  followed  in  His  com- 
mandments." 

"Which  commandment  have  I  broken  ?"  said  Han- 
nah, wheeling  around. 

"All  of  them." 

"The  fifth?" 

"The  fifth?"  cried  Mrs.  Mersey,  surprised  by 
the  violence  of  the  question. 

"Am  I  not  honoring  you  by  marrying  the  man 
you  wish  me  to  marry  with  all  your  heart?  Don't 
let  us  discuss  religion.  I  am  my  own  mistress, 
though  I  obey  you  in  this,  as  I  have  obeyed  you  all 
my  life." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  marry  the  earl,"  Mrs.  Mer- 
sey cried  violently,  "unless  you  love  him." 


242  THE   FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

"I  do  love  him,"  Hannah  answered. 

"How  love  ?  when  you  talk  of  acting  a  part !" 

"Love  is  acting,  just  as  politeness  is  acting,  as 
everything  is  acting.  If  I  act  uprightly  I  am  a  good 
woman." 

"Good  or  evil,"  said  Mrs.  Mersey,  "you  have  no 
more  religion  than  my  umbrella ;  and  a  woman  with- 
out religion  is  like  a  lamp  without  oil.  Never,  never, 
never  in  all  my  life  have  I  been  so  bitterly  disap- 
pointed as  I  am  in  you  this  day.  Take  care,  take 
care;  the  time  will  come  when  you  will  want  re- 
ligion; when  you  will  knock  and  it  will  not  be 
•opened,  when  you  will  seek  and  not  find !"  Saying 
this  Mrs.  Mersey  marched  from  the  room  with  her 
head  in  the  air. 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  the  earl  entered, 
dressed  in  his  old  frock  coat,  his  old  fawn-colored 
trousers,  the  brimless  tall  hat  in  his  hand. 

"Nice  weather  for  a  weddin' !"  he  chuckled.  "It's 
rainin'  cats  and  dogs ;  hope  we  ain't  goin'  to  live  a 
cat-and-dog  life,  eh?" 

"I  shall  begin  the  cat  part  at  once,"  said  Hannah, 
all  smiles,  "by  lecturing  you  for  coming  in  those  old 
dothes." 

"What !"  cried  the  earl,  spreading  his  arms  wide 
and  looking  down  over  his  toilet;  "anythin5  wrong 
with  this  suit,  my  best  suit,  the  suit  I  was  married 
in  to  the  late  lamented  ?" 

Mrs.  Mersey  entered  the  room  as  these  words 
were  said.  "It's  not  the  clothes  that  matter,  it's  the 


THE    CURTAIN    RINGS   UP  243 

heart,"  murmured  the  good  dame.  "I've  no  fear  of 
your  heart,  my  lord." 

The  earl  glanced  at  Hannah.  "D'ye  hear  that, 
'Han  ?  It's  the  heart,  not  the  coat  an'  trousers,  you've 
got  to  examine." 

"Such  a  heart  as  yours,"  smiled  Hannah,  "de~ 
serves  richer  covering." 

"A  white  waistcoat  would  have  done  it,"  chuckled 
the  earl,  "an'  I've  got  a  couple  somewhere  in  Kyn 
House.  Damme,  I've  a  mind  to  go  back  an'  put  one 
on." 

This  remark  made  Mrs.  Mersey  laugh;  Hannah 
took  the  earl's  face  in  her  two  hands  and  declared 
he  was  "a  perfect  love"  ;  and  so,  peace  being  restored, 
the  laughing,  happy  trio  descended  to  the  front  door, 
before  which  the  earl's  cab  was  waiting  in  the  driv- 
ing rain. 

"Have  you  got  the  ring  ?"  laughed  Hannah,  as  the 
cab  rolled  away. 

"A  beauty,"  said  the  earl;  "seven  poun'  ten,  an' 
weighs  a  hundredweight." 

"May  it  wear  like  the  one  my  dear  husband  put 
on  my  hand  nearly  thirty  years  ago!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Mersey  piously. 

"Don't!"  the  earl  expostulated.  "It  makes  me 
feel  as  if  I'm  goin'  to  my  funeral!  Fancy  Han  a 
widow!  It's  enough  to  break  my  heart;  on  my 
weddin'  day,  too!" 

Hannah  leaned  forward  and  patted  the  earl's  hand. 
"You  are  not  going  to  leave  me,  are  you  ?"  she  said 
blithely.  "We're  going  to  laugh  and  joke  together 


244  THE   FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

for  many  a  long  day  yet,  and  I  shan't  lay  flowers  on 
your  grave  till  the  snow's  in  my  hair  and  Time  has 
clawed  my  face  all  over !" 

She  laughed  her  low,  pretty  laugh,  and  gazed  into 
Lord  Mane's  eyes  with  merriment  and  love  strug- 
gling for  mastery  in  her  large  dark  orbs.  The  earl 
swore  she  was  a  good  sort,  and  bade  Mrs.  Mersey 
cheer  up.  Before  the  old  lady  could  reply,  the  cab 
stopped  with  a  jerk  at  the  church,  and  the  three  hur- 
ried under  their  umbrellas  through  the  rain  to  the 
half-opened  door. 

"Am  I  to  wait?"  bawled  the  cabman,  the  rain 
dripping  from  his  hat-brim  on  to  his  large  blue 
nose. 

"A  minute  or  two,"  answered  the  earl  over  his 
shoulder ;  "I'm  only  goin'  to  get  married." 

The  cabman  shook  the  rain  from  his  drenched 
wide-spreading  cape.  "Look  alive  about  it,  guv'- 
nor,"  he  said,  stamping  on  the  ground;  "soonest 
said,  soonest  mended ;  and  my  mare  takes  cold  werry 
quick  in  the  autumn." 

But  ere  he  had  finished  his  remark  the  wedding- 
party  had  left  the  umbrellas  in  the  porch  and 
marched  up  the  aisle,  with  a  toothless  pew-opener 
hobbling  on  in  front.  A  serious-looking  curate,  with 
a  fat  clerk  in  attendance,  emerged  from  the  vestry, 
and  walked  swiftly  through  the  gloom  to  the  altar, 
his  white  robe  seeming  to  enhance  the  cheerlessness 
and  chilliness  of  the  great  silent  church. 

"Not  much  of  a  congregation!"  whispered  the 
earl  to  Hannah. 


THE    CURTAIN    RINGS    UP  245 

"It's  the  weather,"  she  answered,  with  a  smile. 

"Hadn't  you  better  kneel?"  said  Mrs.  Mersey, 
looking  grimly  at  her  daughter,  and  speaking  in  a 
hoarse  tone  of  voice  which  she  believed  suitable  for 
occasions  of  this  kind. 

But  the  curate  had  now  begun  the  address;  the 
toothless  pew-opener,  whose  upper  lip  seemed  to 
have  slipped  quite  into  her  mouth,  was  giving  the 
earl  a  copy  of  the  marriage  service,  and  the  fat 
clerk  was  standing  at  Mrs.  Mersey's  side  watching 
Lord  Mane  with  critical  eyes.  Hannah  fixed  her 
gaze  on  the  Table  of  the  Commandments  over  the 
altar,  and  for  the  first  few  minutes  listened  intently 
to  the  words  of  the  service. 

She  made  her  responses  in  a  low,  reverent  tone 
of  voice  that  induced  Mrs.  Mersey  to  feel  fully  per- 
suaded of  her  daughter's  goodness.  "She  was  act- 
ing this  morning,"  said  the  good  soul  to  herself; 
"she's  her  true  self  now."  The  earl,  too,  was  struck 
by  Hannah's  beautiful  seriousness,  and  glanced  at 
her  under  his  twitching  red  eyebrows  with  a  new 
interest.  It  was  only  in  this  part  of  the  service  the 
curate  appeared  to  take  any  deep  human  interest. 

But  if  the  curate,  like  the  reader,  could  have 
peeped  into  Hannah's  mind  during  the  service,  how 
different  had  been  his  emotions !  Of  what  was  the 
grave-faced  girl  thinking  as  she  stood  at  the  earl's 
side  before  that  gloomy  altar?  She  was  dreaming. 
To  her,  the  church  was  brilliantly  illuminated,  the 
dreary  yawning  pews  were  filled  with  the  great  ones 
of  the  earth,  her  dark  dress  was  a  glistening  white 


246  THE   FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

robe  trailing  far  behind  her  among  a  retinue  of  beau- 
tiful bridesmaids,  the  prayer-book  in  her  hand  was 
a  glorious  bouquet  of  rare  flowers,  the  pale-faced 
curate,  without  even  a  hood  to  relieve  the  gloom,  was 
a  dignified  bishop,  and  the  old  man  at  her  side  awk- 
wardly forcing  a  ring  upon  her  finger  was — Sir 
Michael  Dulverton. 

She  was  acting  in  her  mind  the  scene  as  she  would 
have  had  it,  not  as  Fate,  the  arbitrary  stage-man- 
ager of  life's  affairs,  had  ordered  it  to  be.  She  was 
thinking  how  beautiful  the  words  of  the  service  had 
sounded  if  the  tall,  straight  Dulverton,  with  his 
heroic  bearing,  his  grave  eyes,  his  sweet,  gracious 
voice,  stood  by  her  side,  pledging  his  word  before 
God  and  man  to  love  her,  comfort  her,  honor  and 
keep  her,  to  have  and  to  hold,  for  better  for  worse, 
for  richer,  for  poorer,  in  sickness  and  in  health,  to 
love  and  to  cherish,  till  death.  She  was  thinking 
how  she  would  have  stood  by  his  side — erect,  but 
with  bowed,  reverent  head,  proud,  but  with  maidenly 
modesty;  making  confidently  her  oath  before  God 
and  man  to  obey  him,  and  serve  him,  love,  honor, 
and  keep  him  in  sickness  and  in  health ;  and,  forsak- 
ing all  others,  keep  only  unto  him. 

But  the  dream  ended,  and  she  woke  with  a  smile 
that  made  the  earl  chuckle  with  delight,  to  walk  be- 
hind the  fat,  wheezing  clerk  to  the  vault-like 
vestry. 

"I  was  saying,"  said  the  clerk,  taking  all  the  com- 
pany in  with  a  beaming  smile,  "that  it  isn't  often  we 
has  a  earl  getting  married  at  St.  Michael's."  The 


THE    CURTAIN    RINGS   UP  247 

curate  smiled,  opened  his  register,  and  mumbled  in- 
coherent words  to  himself. 

The  earl  fumbled  in  his  waistcoat  pocket  and 
swore  that  the  vestry  was  devilish  damp. 

Mrs.  Mersey,  who  frequented  a  church  of  different 
opinions,  was  examining  the  vestry  like  a  general 
inspecting  kit  in  a  barrack-room. 

Hannah  stood  at  the  earl's  side  watching  the 
curate,  as  a  woman  will  regard  a  shopman  hunting 
through  a  price-list  on  her  behalf. 

"I  was  saying,"  said  the  clerk,  who  always  began 
his  conversation  in  this  form,  "that  if  the  people  had 
known  of  it  we  should  have  had  the  church  packed 
from  top  to  toe,  shouldn't  we,  Mrs.  Fripp?" 

Mrs.  Fripp,  sucking  her  upper  lip  still  farther  into 
her  mouth,  and  in  that  condition  smiling  as  genially 
as  she  could,  cast  a  sickly  affirmative  with  her  sad 
eyes  in  the  direction  of  the  earl. 

Hannah  wondered  when  the  dreary  business 
would  come  to  an  end.  At  last  the  curate  asked  her 
a  question,  gave  her  a  pen,  and  she  found  herself 
signing  her  name  in  the  register.  She  laid  down  the 
pen,  turned  away,  and  came  face  to  face  with  the 
grinning  old  clerk. 

"Your  ladyship,  I  was  saying,  is  unfortunate  in 
the  weather." 

"I  wish,"  said  Mrs.  Fripp,  glancing  up  with  her 
weak  eyes,  and  then  looking  instantly  down  to  the 
floor,  "I  wish  your  ladyship  may  be  happy  and  com- 
fortable, I'm  sure." 

It  was  said  in  a  miserable  voice,  as  one  who 


248  THE    FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

sharply  realized  the  uncertainties  of  marriage;  it 
was  as  if  the  poor,  broken  creature  hoped  against 
all  her  experience  that  this  marriage  at  least  might 
turn  out  to  be  comparatively  free  from  disaster. 

The  curate  bobbed  a  quick,  nervous  good-by; 
the  earl  gave  some  money  to  the  clerk  and  pew- 
opener  ;  Mrs.  Mersey  stalked  out  of  the  vestry  with 
her  umbrella  lying  on  her  bosom  like  a  sorely  atten- 
uated black  baby;  and  then — then  they  were  in  the 
blustering  and  driving  rain,  and  Hannah  could 
breathe  again. 

"Is  the  knot  tied  tight  enough?"  growled  the 
cabman,  opening  the  door.  "It's  taken  a  powerful 
long  time  fixin'  of  it  up." 

"Marriage,"  said  Mrs.  Mersey  sharply,  bustling 
into  the  cab,  "is  a  very  serious  matter." 

"Lor'  bless  me,  mum,  I  know  that,"  said  the  cab- 
man, pushing  her  in ;  "I'm  married  myself,  and  I've 
driven  'undreds,  'undreds  of  pore  things  to  church. 
Serious!  My  word,  I  should  say  so!  Where  to, 
guv'nor?" 

The  earl,  who  rather  relished  the  mournful  gloom 
of  the  driver,  asked  him  what  he  thought  of  a  man 
who  married  twice. 

"What  do  I  think?"  said  the  cabman,  frowning. 
"Why,  if  he  marries  beauty,  good;  if  he  marries 
money,  better ;  if  he  marries  heart-disease,  best.  And 
if  he  marries  all  three  he  oughter  be  Prime  Minister 
of  Hingland.  Where  to?" 

Lord  Mane  gave  the  address  of  a  quiet  hotel  in 


THE    CURTAIN    RINGS   UP  249 

the  neighborhood  of  Victoria  Street,  and  the  party 
drove  off. 

"Bear  in  mind,"  he  said  to  Hannah,  tugging  up 
the  window,  "bear  in  mind  you've  promised  an* 
vowed  to  obey  me  an'  serve  me." 

"You  must  remind  me  of  it  every  day,  or  I  shall 
forget,"  said  Hannah. 

"Forget!"  cried  the  earl,  facing  round. 

"Because  I  can  only  remember  that  I've  promised 
to  love  you !"  she  answered,  with  a  beautiful  smile. 

"You  won't  forget  that,  eh?"  chuckled  the  earl, 
highly  delighted.  "Damme,  we  shall  get  on  like  a 
house  afire." 

"With  no  one  to  throw  cold  water  on  us,"  laughed 
Hannah,  patting  her  mother's  hand. 

"Oh,  I  won't  put  you  out,"  Mrs.  Mersey  replied 
briskly;  "but,  really,  I  wish  you  had  been  married 
in  an  evangelical  church.  I'd  sooner  be  married  on 
a  Friday,  or  a  thirteenth,  than  in  one  of  those 
Popish  places!" 

"We'll  bear  that  in  mind  for  next  time,"  chuckled 
Lord  Mane. 

They  laughed  and  chatted,  happy  and  in  the  best 
of  spirits,  till  the  hotel  was  reached.  There  they  de- 
scended, the  earl  dismissed  the  cabman  with  a  sov- 
ereign, and  the  party  sat  down  to  lunch. 

It  was  in  the  afternoon,  when  mother-in-law,  as 
the  earl  called  her,  was  preparing  to  take  her  leave, 
that  Mrs.  Mersey  managed  to  obtain  a  private  word 
with  Hannah. 

"I  want  to  tell  you,"  she  said,  "how  pleased  I  was 


250  THE   FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

with  your  behavior  in  church.  My  dear,  it  was 
beautiful ;  just  what  I  could  have  expected  of  your 
bringing  up.  And  now  I  know  that  when  you  spoke 
to  me  this  morning  you  were  only  acting,  as  you 
call  it." 

"I  am  always  acting,"  said  Hannah,  stooping  as 
the  old  lady  stood  tiptoe  to  kiss  her.  "And  so  are 
you,  you  sweet  little  thing,  and  you're  one  of  the 
cleverest  actresses  on  life's  stage.  You  deserve  a 
better  part."  So  Hannah  was  married,  and  thus  her 
honeymoon  began. 

Fling  rice  at  the  happy  couple,  jangle  the  bells, 
flutter  a  thousand  handkerchiefs !  The  supreme  day 
in  a  woman's  life !  She  has  stepped  into  the  charmed 
circle — that  honorable  estate,  instituted  of  God  in 
the  time  of  man's  innocency — to  live  the  rest  of  her 
days  with  a  man  old  enough  to  be  her  father,  a  man 
whose  meanness  of  soul  and  purity  of  mind  none 
has  felt  so  keenly  as  his  bride.  Are  we  to  end  her 
story  with  the  sound  of  marriage  bells,  with  a  sprig 
of  orange  blossom,  with  a  true  lover's  knot?  No. 
For  in  Hannah's  life  this  moment  is  but  the  ringing 
up  of  the  curtain,  the  beginning  of  life's  comedy. 
All  the  childhood,  all  the  girlhood,  all  the  early 
womanhood  spent  in  earning  bread — this  was  but  a 
time  of  rehearsal.  Now  she  steps  upon  the  stage, 
before  the  eyes  of  the  world,  a  crown  on  her  head, 
the  music  in  her  ears,  the  triumph  ahead.  What  is  it 
to  her  that  he  who  plays  Romeo  at  her  side  is  not  the 
man  for  whom  she  would  be  Juliet.  He  is  only  a 
part  of  the  scenery,  one  of  a  great  company  on  the 


THE    CURTAIN    RINGS    UP  251 

stage.  The  part  is  to  her.  She  has  her  place,  her 
words,  her  robes.  A  thousand  hopes  and  fears  are 
hers,  a  thousand  doubts,  a  thousand  dreams;  but 
Ambition  is  in  the  wings  prompting  her,  encourag- 
ing her,  applauding  her.  Let  the  audience  shout  or 
hiss  she  will  keep  her  part  till  the  bell  rings,  the 
curtain  falls,  and  Death  brings  the  play  to  an  end. 
In  the  time  of  man's  innocency! 


XIX 

IN   WHICH   HANNAH    GREATLY   DISTINGUISHES   HER- 
SELF 

WHEN  the  Countess  of  Mane  arrived  to  take 
possession  of  Kyn  House,  a  week  after  the 
wedding,  she  found  thai  the  earl  had  been  true  to 
his  word.  She  was  to  enjoy  her  title  with  dignity. 
Carriages  and  horses  had  been  brought  from  the 
castle,  footmen  and  maidservants  were  in  attend- 
ance, the  historic  jewels — some  of  which  she  had 
seen  on  her  "predecessor" — were  now  given  into 
her  keeping,  and  though  the  earl  still  swore  and 
cursed  as  he  listed,  there  was  a  certain  state  and 
dignity  about  their  manner  of  living  which  sur- 
passed anything  she  had  dreamed  of,  anything  he 
had  even  hinted  at  in  his  most  generous  mood. 

"I'll  show  'em,"  he  said,  "that  I  can  still  present 
a  pretty  wife  to  the  world.  I  would  to  God  I  could 
take  you  into  the  club,  Han,  dressed  as  you  are 
now,  with  that  damned  proud  look  of  yours.  I'd 
like  'em  to  hear  you  talkin'  to  me.  I'd  like  'em  to 
see  that  good  looks  can  go  with  goodness,  and  that 
old  Mane,  damme,  ain't  a  woman's  playthin'." 

Hannah  realized  what  had  happened.  She  seized 
her  opportunity.  "Let  them  see  us  together,"  she 

cried  proudly.    "The  clubs  are  not  the  only  courts 

252 


HANNAH    DISTINGUISHES    HERSELF     253 

of  justice  in  society.  Let  us  storm  the  drawing- 
rooms — the  best  drawing-rooms.  Can  you  do  that? 
Do  you  think  you  would  care  to  take  me  there?" 

"Care  to!  Damme,  I'd  give  my  eyes  to  do  it. 
An'  I'm  goin'  to  try,  Han.  I've  started  already. 
I've  got  my  sister,  old  Lady  Susan  Wilkinson — she 
married  a  bishop  at  fifty  an'  killed  him  before  she 
was  a  year  older — I've  got  her  to  come  an'  see 
you.  She's  one  of  the  best;  she  wouldn't  allow 
any  of  the  late  lamented's  friends  to  come  near  her, 
damn  me  if  she  would !  All  the  Old  Guard  swear 
by  Susan.  She's  got  the  blood,  she's  got  the 
religion,  an'  she  hasn't  got  the  money ;  so  she's  all 
right,  she's  one  of  the  Chosen.  Nobble  her,  Han, 
and  you'll  sweep  the  board." 

So  Hannah,  having  sworn  to  obey  her  lord,  pro- 
ceded  to  nobble  the  Lady  Susan.  She  set  about 
this  delicate  work  in  her  quiet,  methodical  manner, 
ascertaining  by  innocent  conversation  with  Lord 
Mane  that  this  august  sister  was  interested  in  the 
East  End  of  London,  that  she  was  High  Church, 
that  she  was  a  Whig,  that  she  was  an  anti-vaccina- 
tor,  and  that  she  accounted  all  rich  Americans  the 
enemies  of  Righteousness,  Law,  Order,  and  the 
British  Empire. 

For  many  days  the  young  countess,  with  good 
books  and  reports  of  missions  at  her  elbow,  sat  in 
the  big,  stately  drawing-room  of  Kyn  House  await- 
ing the  Lady  Susan's  arrival.  Her  mother,  on 
these  occasions,  was  offered  the  carriage,  but  Lord 
Kyn  was  kept  at  home  to  sit  with  his  stepmother 


254  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

in  the  great,  silent  room,  where  the  crackling  of 
the  fire,  the  soft  ticking  of  a  little  gold  clock,  and 
the  rustle  of  leaves  turned  by  the  studious  Han- 
nah were  the  only  sounds  that  broke  the  monotony 
of  their  vigil. 

At  last  Lady  Susan  arrived.  A  footman  flung 
open  the  door  one  bitterly  cold  afternoon,  an- 
nounced her  arrival,  and,  with  a  heart  beating  ex- 
citedly in  her  bosom,  though  outwardly  calm, 
Hannah  rose  from  the  sofa  and  went  forward  to 
greet  her  sister-in-law.  She  expected  to  meet  her 
in  the  center  of  the  room,  but  she  had  reached  the 
door,  where  the  footman  stood  with  awful  majesty, 
before  she  caught  sight  of  her  visitor. 

Lady  Susan  was  toiling  from  the  last  broad  stair 
towards  the  drawing-room.  She  was  tall  and  thin. 
She  wore  a  heavy  bonnet,  from  whose  forbidding 
front  descended  a  long,  dark  veil ;  a  white  fur  cape 
hung  about  her  shoulders;  a  black  mantle  fell  in 
straight  lines  from  the  long,  thin  neck  to  within 
an  inch  of  the  knee ;  her  skirt  was  many  folded  and 
trailed  far  behind  her;  she  carried  a  great  muff  in 
one  hand,  while  with  the  other  she  lifted  a  portion 
of  her  skirt  up  to  the  waist,  leaving  an  emphatic 
elastic-sided  boot  with  brief  patent  leather  toe-cap 
and  a  certain  length  of  white  stocking  visible  to 
all  the  world. 

"How  good  of  you  to  come,"  murmured  Han- 
nah, advancing  with  decent  modesty. 

The  old  lady  dropped  her  skirt,  extended  a  hand 
covered  in  a  black  cotton  glove,  and  bowed  her 


HANNAH    DISTINGUISHES    HERSELF     255 

head.  Hannah  conducted  her  through  the  draw- 
ing-room door,  the  footman  retired,  and  the  two 
walked  slowly  and  silently  towards  the  fire.  Kyn 
rose  with  his  book  in  his  hand,  and  stood  irreso- 
lute on  the  hearthrug. 

"You  are  very  kind  to  come  and  see  me,  Lady 
Susan,"  said  Hannah  gently,  "especially  as  the 
weather  is  so  very  bad.  This  is  little  Kyn.  I 
forget  whether  you  have  met  him." 

Lady  Susan  had  lifted  her  veil,  and  disclosed  a 
long,  fleshless  face,  very  white,  in  which  gray  eyes 
stared  in  a  dull,  uninterested,  fish-like  fashion  from 
two  awful  caves  carved  under  the  straight,  narrow- 
brow'. 

"I  met  him  at  his  baptism,"  she  said,  drawing  a 
black-bordered  handkerchief  from  her  muff,  and 
violently  rubbing  the  sharp,  loose  point  of  her  long, 
thin  nose.  Hannah  had  never  seen  a  nose  shoot  so 
pliantly  from  left  to  right.  And  this  no  doubt  would 
have  impressed  her  with  becoming  wonder  but  foe 
the  tones  of  the  old  lady's  voice. 

Such  a  voice  she  had  never  heard  before.  It 
was  a  man's  voice,  lightened  by  some  weird,  fem- 
inine crack,  or  creak — a  voice  full  of  poor  earthly 
pride  and  self-importance,  yet  ghostly,  unreal — a 
voice  from  the  grave.  It  struck  a  chill  through 
Hannah,  and  set  her  mind  wondering  how  the  old 
lady  managed  to  produce  it  and  live. 

"I  met  him  at  his  baptism,"  she  said.  "He  has 
grown;  he  is  very  like  my  brother."  Then  she 
turned  and  looked  at  Hannah,  still  standing  before 


256  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

[the  fire,  her  skirt  trailing,  as  it  seemed,  over  half 
the  floor,  the  top  of  her  bonnet  reaching  high  up 
towards  the  ceiling.  "And  you  are  my  brother's 
jvife.  Very  young;  younger  than  I  had  thought." 

Hannah  tried  to  look  into  those  fish-like  eyes 
with  modesty,  humility,  gentle  dignity,  maidenly 
pride.  She  might  just  as  well  have  tried  to  meet 
their  dull  stare  with  contempt  and  derision.  She 
quickly  lowered  her  eyes,  and  waited  for  the  judge 
to  pronounce  sentence. 

"My  brother  was  unhappy  in  his  former  mar- 
riage," said  the  Lady  Susan ;  "his  wife  was  quite  an 
impossible  young  woman.  I  hope  in  the  present 
case  it  may  be  different.  I  shall  pray  for  you  both." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  At  last  Hannah  found 
her  voice.  "It  is  my  most  earnest  desire,"  she  said 
a  little  huskily,  "to  make  the  earl's  life,  after  all  his 
terrible  trouble,  happy  and  peaceful."  She  looked 
up  with  an  expression  of  such  exquisite  humility 
as  would  have  flooded  the  heart  of  Lord  Mane 
with  the  waters  of  joy.  But  before  the  awful,  re- 
lentless stare  of  those  dull  gray  eyes  the  expression 
melted  swiftly  away,  and  once  again  she  sought 
cover  in  the  carpet. 

"You  have  taken  upon  yourself  a  great  and  re- 
sponsible duty,"  said  the  Voice.  "I  trust  you  will 
not  find  it  beyond  your  powers.  A  young  girl 
might  well  shrink  from  it.  And  the  child — he  is 
fond  of  you  ?" 

"I  am  very  fond  of  him,"  Hannah  whispered. 

"Do  you  still  teach  him  his  lessons?" 


HANNAH   DISTINGUISHES   HERSELF     257 

"Yes,"  said  Hannah,  telling  a  very  big  fib.  The 
boy  looked  at  his  aunt  and  wondered  why  she  was 
standing  there  instead  of  sitting  down  like  a  ra- 
tional being. 

"What  does  he  learn  ?" 

"At  present  only  the  most  elementary  subjects. 
He  is  not  very  strong." 

"Does  he  know  his  catechism?" 

"Not  yet,"  murmured  Hannah. 

"He  is  old  enough  to  learn  it — quite  old  enough. 
A  child  is  never  too  young  to  learn  the  reasons  for 
his  existence,  especially  a  child  who  has  been  neg- 
lected by  his  parents.  I  should  begin  that  lesson 
immediately." 

"I  will  certainly  do  so,"  Hannah  murmured. 

"Good-by,"  said  the  Voice,  and  the  black  cotton 
glove  came  solemnly  forward. 

Hannah  almost  jumped.  "Oh !  won't  you  stay  a 
little  longer,  Lady  Susan?  May  I  not  give  you 
some  tea?  Pray  rest  a " 

But  she  stopped  dead,  transfixed  by  those  awful 
eyes.  "Good-by,"  said  the  awful  Voice. 

"Good-by,"  gasped  Hannah.  "I  am  so  sorry 
you  cannot  stop,  so  very,  very  sorry." 

The  old  lady  solemnly  inclined  her  tall  bonnet  a 
few  inches  forward,  removed  her  eyes  from  Han- 
nah, and  walked  over  to  the  child.  She  laid  two 
fingers  on  his  head  and  bade  him  look  up.  "You 
are  a  good  boy,  I  hope?" 

Kyn  looked  at  his  stepmother  and  kicked  one  of 
his  shoes  against  the  other. 


258  THE  FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

"He  is  very  good,"  said  Hannah ;  "he  is  always 
thinking  what  he  can  do  for  others." 

"Poor  child!  poor  child!"  sighed  Lady  Susan. 
"He  has  a  difficult  life  before  him."  And  she 
sailed,  with  a  becoming  rustle  of  garments,  towards 
the  door.  Hannah  rang  the  bell,  hurried  forward 
and  opened  the  door.  The  old  lady  looked  at  her 
as  one  may  look  at  a  stranger  who  does  one  a 
passing  service,  and  then,  with  another  inclination 
of  the  dread  bonnet,  and  drawing  her  veil  over  her 
long,  fleshless  face  as  if  performing  a  religious  rite, 
she  began  her  descent  of  the  stairs.  Hannah  fol- 
lowed as  closely  as  the  long  skirt,  flopping  slowly 
from  stair  to  stair,  would  permit,  but  at  a  bend  in 
the  journey  the  old  lady,  from  behind  her  veil, 
begged  that  she  would  return  to  her  drawing-room, 
and,  this  being  given  in  the  tone  of  a  dismissal, 
Hannah,  without  another  word,  returned  miserably 
to  the  fire,  which  was  crackling  derisively  in  the 
large  comfortable  grate. 

But  she  did  not  long  despair.  Her  old  lord  ap- 
pearing soon  after  explained  with  many  a  round 
oath,  many  a  chuckle,  that  it  was  only  old  Susan's 
way,  that  she  meant  no  harm  by  it,  that  Hannah 
would  be  entertaining  royalty  before  another  six 
months  were  over  her  head,  and  that  he  himself 
would  accompany  her  when  she  went  to  repay  Lady 
Susan's  chilling  call.  Thus,  with  encouragement  and 
ambitious  prognostications,  Hannah  turned  away 
from  the  contemplation  of  her  failure  to  entertain 
the  Lady  Susan,  and  gave  herself  up  to  comforting 


HANNAH    DISTINGUISHES    HERSELF     259 

dreams  of  the  future.  In  her  lucid  intervals  she 
taught  Kyn  the  catechism. 

A  few  days  afterwards  the  earl  announced  that  it 
was  time  to  return  his  sister's  call,  and  together 
they  drove  away  to  Warwick  Square.  Hannah  did 
not  feel  any  great  trepidation  on  this  occasion.  In 
the  first  place  her  lord's  company  was  a  stay  and 
support  to  her;  in  the  second,  she  had  begun  to 
think  that  the  best  society,  if  the  Lady  Susan  were 
a  shining  example  of  its  brilliancy,  was  no  more 
to  be  desired  than  the  vulgarity  of  the  set  honored 
by  Mrs.  Bobby  Robinson's  patronage. 

"Heigho !"  sighed  Hannah  in  her  mind ;  "I  am 
in  search  of  something,  I  know  not  what,  and  for 
all  my  pains  I  get  no  nearer  to  it.  I  don't  think 
I  want  the  best  society ;  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  smart 
society.  What  I  long  for,  I  think,  is  an  audience — 
a  vast  company  innumerable  as  the  sands  of  the 
seashore — before  whom  I  may  exhibit  my  glory, 
my  state,  my  pomp,  my  worldly  circumstance  !  Yes, 
perhaps  it  is  that  of  which  I  am  in  search ;  but  I 
cannot  say.  Everything  is  a  shadow  when  one 
grasps  at  it." 

In  the  midst  of  these  reflections  she  found  her- 
self walking  up  a  solemn  flight  of  stairs,  passing  a 
conservatory  filled  with  as  many  bird-cages  as  flow- 
ers, on  up  another  shorter  flight,  and  then — an  open 
door,  a  sound  of  voices,  a  company  of  people. 

Lady  Susan  advanced.  She  was  wearing  an  im- 
pressive widow's  cap,  and  came  forward  with  her 
dread  watery  gray  eyes  staring  solemnly  out  of 


260  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

their  caves.  Hannah  touched  her  long  fingers  and 
stood  on  one  side  while  the  earl  made  his  bow. 
Then  she  was  conducted  to  a  sofa,  and  presented  to 
a  lady — the  Duchess  of  Mottingham. 

The  duchess  was  a  handsome  woman,  with  kind 
brown  eyes,  a  sweet  mouth,  in  whose  features  re- 
finement was  as  apparent  as  bloom  on  a  peach.  Her 
voice,  too,  was  gentle  and  soothing,  her  manner 
sweet  and  caressing. 

"We  are  making  arrangements  for  a  great  enter- 
tainment in  Plaistow,"  she  said.  "Are  you  inter- 
ested in  mission  work?" 

Hannah  turned  eager  eyes  upon  the  sweet  duch- 
ess. Yes,  such  work  was  very  near  her  heart.  Her 
father,  her  dear  father,  had  died  toiling  in  the  slums. 
Hitherto  she  herself  had  only  worked  in  villages, 
but  gladly,  oh,  how  gladly,  would  she  hail  any 
opportunity  of  doing  good  in  those  dreadful  centers 
of  want  and  destitution. 

While  she  spoke  she  looked  round  the  room. 
Her  husband  was  talking  to  a  good-looking  middle- 
aged  gentleman,  very  carefully  dressed,  with  neatly 
brushed  hair,  mustache,  and  whiskers.  There  was  a 
dean  or  a  bishop  in  the  room,  she  could  not  say 
which,  and  he  seemed  to  be  the  great  favorite,  keep- 
ing everybody  in  good  spirits  by  his  wit,  his  anec- 
dotes, and  his  riddles.  The  women  were  all  hand- 
some, all  well-dressed,  all  unmistakably  great  ladies. 
But  there  was  no  one  there  so  delightful  as  her 
duchess,  no  one  who  seemed  so  genuinely  kind, 
no  one  whose  society — nay,  whose  friendship  she  so 
keenly  desired. 


HANNAH    DISTINGUISHES    HERSELF     261 

While  she  talked  about  the  East  End  and  listened 
to  the  plans  for  the  great  meeting,  the  earl  ap- 
proached with  the  well-groomed  gentleman,  and, 
after  shaking  hands  with  the  duchess,  said  that  he 
wished  to  introduce  the  Duke  of  Mottingham.  The 
duke  bowed,  stroked  one  of  his  nice  fresh  brown 
whiskers,  and  glanced  a  little  doubtfully  at  the 
duchess. 

"Lady  Mane,"  said  that  good  lady,  "is  very  en- 
thusiastic about  the  East  End.  Her  father  was  a 
clergyman  there  for  many  years,  so  she  feels  a  great 
interest  in  our  work." 

Hannah  felt  more  grateful  to  her  father  at  that 
moment  than  she  had  ever  felt  before.  She  looked 
up  sadly  at  the  duke.  "People  who  try  to  fight 
poverty  and  sin  there  must  be  very  brave,"  she 
said. 

"Your  husband,"  answered  the  duke,  smiling  and 
raising  his  nicely  arched  eyebrows,  "is,  I  am  sorry 
to  say,  a  heretic.  He  has  been  abusing  me  most 
dreadfully  for  the  small  part  I  play  in  the  missions, 
hurling  political  economy  at  my  head  like  eggs  at 
an  election  meeting.  I  am  literally  bespattered 
with  logic,  really !" 

"What  I  say,"  cried  the  earl,  "is  this.  You  coddle 
these  confounded  people,  you  encourage  'em  to  live 
by  charity,  an'  you  keep  'em  in  places  where  they 
ain't  wanted  while  the  villages  are  dyin'  for  'em. 
Ain't  that  logic,  now?" 

"But  would  you  have  them  neglected  altogeth- 
er ?"  said  the  duchess,  in  a  gentle  tone  of  reproach. 


262  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

"I'd  have  'em,  ma'am,  find  out  by  painful  experi- 
ence the  only  way  to  self-respect  and  success  in  life. 
You  ain't  goin'  to  do  that  by  teas  and  prayer- 
meetin's.  I  ain't  condemnin'  your  motives,  excel- 
lent motives,  most  creditable  motives;  but  I  say, 
ma'am,  you're  doin'  more  harm  than  good." 

"Oh,  this  is  most  disheartening!"  cried  the 
duchess. 

"I'll  fetch  the  bishop,"  laughed  the  duke.  "  Ton 
me  honor,  Mane,  you're  too  much  for  me." 

The  earl  chuckled.  "Bishops  are  wordy  fellows ; 
but  I'll  stick  to  my  point  till  the  tea  comes,  then  he 
may  have  it  which  way  he  likes !" 

"There  is  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  what  Lord 
Mane  says,"  the  duchess  remarked  soothingly  to 
Hannah. 

"Yes,"  she  replied  thoughtfully,  "one  has  often 
thought  of  the  danger  incurred  even  in  doing  little 
simple  acts  of  kindness — 'the  little,  nameless,  unre- 
membered  acts  of  kindness  and  of  love.' " 

The  duchess  looked  at  her  quickly.  "Are  you  a 
Wordsworthian  ?"  she  asked,  with  a  smile. 

"Heart  and  soul,"  said  Hannah,  remembering 
how  she  had  hated  those  long  readings  with  her 
poetical  father. 

"He  is  a  relief  after  Browning,  isn't  he?"  the 
duchess  cried  in  a  whisper.  "One  hears  nothing 
but  Browning  nowadays,  till  sometimes  one  is  al- 
most tempted  to  live  one's  whole  life  in  a  study  of 
his  poems.  But  Wordsworth  is  so  beautiful,  so 
simple,  so  very  wise." 


HANNAH   DISTINGUISHES    HERSELF     263 

The  smiling  bishop  approached.  "I  am  con- 
cerned," he  began  in  a  deep  voice,  folding  his  hands 
on  his  ample  paunch  and  settling  his  double  chin 
comfortably  down  on  his  broad  chest,  "I  am  con- 
cerned, my  lord,  to  hear  that  you  are  opposed  to 
us." 

"Tooth  and  nail,"  chuckled  the  earl,  blinking  up 
at  the  large,  impressive  dignitary  as  Mr.  Simon 
Tappertit  may  have  looked  at  G.  Vardin  in  his 
'prentice  days.  "I  don't  think  you've  a  leg  to  stan' 
upon.  You  relieve  present  wants  an'  you  don't 

care  a ,  a  blow,  my  lord,  for  the  consequences 

of  your  acts." 

"Open  criticism!"  ejaculated  the  beaming  bish- 
op ;  "open,  honest,  downright  knock-me-down  criti- 
cism. Now,  my  lord,  the  position  is  this.  We, 
feeling  that  something  ought  to  be  done  to  bring 
sweetness  and  light  into  the  lives  of  these  poor 
creatures,  do,  in  our  own  fashion,  certain  things 
which  we  honestly  and  humbly  believe  may  result 
in  bringing  a  little,  a  very  little,  light  into  this  city's 
dark  places.  Whether  we  do  right  or  wrong,  the 
spirit  that  animates  us  is  a  healthy  one — a  very 
healthy  one — and  it  will  assuredly  find  an  outlet  in 
one  channel  or  another.  Now,  then,  tell  us,  my 
lord,  tell  us  in  good  broad  Anglo-Saxon,  what  we 
ought  to  do  in  this  matter."  He  rolled  his  ponder- 
ous head  on  one  side,  smiled  so  that  the  corners 
of  his  mouth  curled  up  towards  his  eyes,  and  gently 
tapped  the  tips  of  his  plump  fingers  together. 

"In  the  first  place,"  said  the  earl,  "no  teas,  no 


264  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

coal  tickets,  no  meat  tickets,  no  blankets.  Nothin' 
of  that  kind." 

"Dreadful !"  sighed  the  duchess. 

Hannah  noticed  that  all  the  people  gathered 
round  her  little  lord  were  smiling  as  a  crowd  smiles 
upon  the  antics  of  an  organ-grinder's  monkey. 

"Nothin'  of  that  kind.  Nothin'  that's  soft  an* 
effeminate  an  coddlin'.  Instead  of  that " 

"Ah !"  said  the  bishop,  rolling  his  head  on  to  the 
other  shoulder. 

"Instead  of  that — plain  speakin' !" 

"Plain ?"  queried  the  bishop,  while  the  duke 

laughed  softly. 

"Plain  speakin' !"  said  the  earl  emphatically.  "I'd 
go  down  to  these  people  an'  I'd  tell  'em  that  if 
they  didn't  drink  away  their  money  in  the  public- 
houses,  if  they  didn't  back  racehorses,  if  they  didn't 
go  to  theaters  and  music-halls,  they'd  be  able  to 
live  like  honest,  self-respectin'  men  and  women." 

"My  dear  lord,"  cried  the  bishop,  in  the  hush 
that  fell  upon  the  group  of  listeners,  "why  don't 
you  ?  Why  don't  you,  now,  my  dear  lord  ?  Noth- 
ing would  give  me  greater  delight,  I  honestly  as- 
sure you,  than  to  see  your  lordship,  from  a  safe 
retreat,  assuring  a  great  host  of  East-Enders  that 
they  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  themselves." 

There  was  a  polite  little  laugh,  and  the  earl 
looked  annoyed.  Hannah  came  to  the  rescue.  Look- 
ing at  the  bishop  with  a  modest  smile,  she  said: 
"It  is  a  little  hard,  is  it  not,  my  lord,  to  make  the 
critic  a  creator?  Lord  Mane  is  criticizing,  is  he 


HANNAH    DISTINGUISHES    HERSELF     265 

not?  In  the  country,  where  he  is  the  worker,  not 
the  critic,  he  acts  as  he  thinks  one  ought  to  act  in 
the  East  End." 

The  duchess  was  quite  delighted  by  Hannah's 
gentle,  modest  championship  of  her  husband.  "And 
there  is  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  Lord  Mane's  con- 
tention," she  began,  when  the  awful  Voice  inter- 
rupted. 

"My  brother  does  not  know  what  he  is  talking 
about,"  said  Lady  Susan  in  a  tone  that  settled  the 
matter  for  all  ages.  "We  are  not  told  to  judge  and 
denounce  our  fellow-creatures.  We  are  told  to  help, 
them  in  their  distress.  In  these  missions  we  do  not 
pauperize  and  unman  our  people,  we  give  them  the 
opportunity  of  learning  self-respect  and  the  first 
principles  of  religion." 

"Admirable  !"  said  the  bishop. 

"Quite,  quite  !"  exclaimed  the  duke. 

And  then  the  door  opened,  and  a  servant  an- 
nounced Miss  Haddon. 

"Ah !"  cried  the  bishop,  "here  is  someone  to 
tackle  Lord  Mane,  and  convert  him  into  giving  us 
a  handsome  subscription." 

Hannah  watched  the  rector's  daughter  enter,  and 
considered  how  she  would  greet  her.  Everyone 
appeared  to  welcome  the  pretty  girl  as  a  great 
favorite.  Lady  Susan  almost  smiled,  the  duchess 
left  Hannah's  side,  the  bishop  stood  gazing  at  her 
with  one  cheek  almost  entirely  on  his  shoulder, 
while  the  other  guests  nodded,  or  went  to  her  side, 
with  the  greatest  goodwill  in  the  world. 


266  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

She  had  been  in  Bethnal  Green,  she  said,  the 
whole  day.  They  were  getting  on  famously.  The 
vicar  was  on  fire  with  enthusiasm ;  only  one  curate 
seemed  to  think  it  was  unholy  for  women  to  inter- 
fere in  such  work.  The  mothers  were  coming  in, 
the  children  were  flocking  to  them,  and  in  a  week's 
time — at  any  rate  before  she  went  back  to  Vedon- 
shire — the  mission  would  be  in  working  order. 

In  the  midst  of  her  conversation  she  caught  sight 
of  Hannah.  She  paused  for  a  moment,  then  came 
over  to  her  with  a  gracious  smile,  and  greeted  her 
with  gentle  words.  Then  the  duchess  was  there, 
and  the  duke,  and  the  bishop,  and  even  Lady 
Susan.  Hannah  found  herself  thronged  by  kind 
people,  people  whose  goodness  gave  her  a  sense  of 
rest  and  happiness.  Tea  was  brought  to  her;  she 
was  talking  about  Wordsworth,  then  about  agri- 
cultural laborers,  then  about  flowers,  then  about 
foreign  politics,  then  about  goodness  knows  what. 

People  were  brought  up  and  introduced  to  her. 
There  was  Sir  Arthur  Outwood,  Mr.  Edward  St. 
Austell,  Lord  Pewsey.  Lady  Pewsey  was  telling 
Hannah  that  she  meant  to  come  and  see  her  that 
week ;  then  she  had  promised  to  sing  for  the  Duch- 
ess of  Mottingham  in  Plaistow  on  Tuesday,  and, 
yes,  she  was  walking  to  the  piano  in  the  smaller 
drawing-room  leading  to  the  conservatory,  and 
Lord  Pewsey  was  arranging  the  seat  for  her.  She 
was  to  sing.  But  what? 

Before  her  sat  representatives  of  the  very  best 
people  in  the  land — the  noblest,  the  kindest,  the 


HANNAH    DISTINGUISHES    HERSELF     267 

gentlest,  the  proudest.  She  looked  towards  them, 
and  her  eyes  beheld  only  Lady  Susan  staring  at 
her  with  the  dread  aspect  of  a  headmaster  awaiting 
a  boy's  stammering  prevarication.  What  to  sing? 
What  to  sing?  She  laid  her  hands  upon  the  keys, 
and  in  that  minute  there  jumped  to  her  mind  an- 
other of  those  little  songs  in  the  making  of  which 
her  poor  dreaming  father  had  beguiled  the  dark 
nights  in  his  deserted  parish.  She  struck  the  notes, 
forgot  the  dull,  gloomy  gaze  of  Lady  Susan,  and, 
thinking  only  of  the  beautiful  duchess,  sang  her 
dead  father's  song: — 

What  may  I  do  that  pain  shall  cease, 

What  may  I  do  to  still  unrest, 
What  may  I  do  that  God's  great  peace 

Shall  enter  and  possess  my  breast? 

Peace  that  will  calm  all  heart-regrets, 
Peace  that  will  bring  the  Hope  now  fled — 

Till  the  last  sun  in  silence  sets, 
Till  the  last  whispered  word  is  said. 

Ah !  I  may  find  that  Peace,  e'en  now ! 

In  shadowed  ways  of  Sin  and  Fear — 
Where  I  may  smooth  one  aching  brow, 

And  wipe  away  a  single  tear. 

Hannah  was  neither  a  great  singer  nor  a  great 
artist ;  she  had  learned  no  tricks.  But  her  voice  was 
musical,  and  it  was  sympathetic.  Every  word  was 
clear  and  clean-cut,  every  phrase  was  given  its  nat- 
ural emphasis.  And  then,  the  music — so  unlike 
the  ordinary  ballad — so  strange,  so  sad,  so  infinitely 
simple,  could  not  fail  to  appeal  to  those  who  sym- 


268  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

pathized  with  human  suffering  and  spent  their  days 
in  doing  good.  There  was  a  low  murmur  of  grati- 
tude when  she  rose  from  the  piano.  Voices  began 
to  break  the  silence,  and  she  was  once  more  sitting 
beside  the  duchess. 

"Tell  me  the  name  of  your  song,"  said  the  duch- 
ess; "I  have  never  heard  it  before." 

"It  has  no  name,"  Hannah  replied,  conscious  that 
other  people  were  listening.  "It  was  written  by  my 
dear  father." 

Then  she  told  how  that  same  poor  curate  had 
spent  his  hours  of  rest  in  composing  little  verses 
and  setting  them  to  his  own  music.  No,  she 
told  them,  he  never  attempted  to  get  them 
published.  They  were  written  for  his  own  com- 
fort, and  sometimes  she,  a  little  girl,  not  knowing 
anything  of  their  pathos,  would  sing  them  to  him. 
That  was  one  of  his  great  delights ;  and  now,  how 
pathetic  they  were  to  her !  How  different  from  all 
other  music  in  the  world ! 

Somebody  else  went  to  the  piano  and  sang.  After 
that  people  began  to  say  good-by.  Lady  Pewsey 
reminded  her  that  she  would  soon  be  calling;  Mr. 
St.  Austell  hoped  that  she  would  come  and  sing 
for  him  some  night  in  some  part  of  the  East  End ; 
and  the  bishop,  bowing  his  great  head  over  her 
hand,  begged  her,  with  a  solemn  smile,  to  convert 
Lord  Mane  from  the  error  of  his  ways.  But  her 
great  triumph  came  when  she  bade  Lady  Susan 
good-by. 


HANNAH    DISTINGUISHES    HERSELF     269 

"You  sing  nicely,"  said  that  old  lady.  "You 
must  let  me  hear  you  again.  Good-by." 

And  as  the  carriage  bowled  silently  away  through 
the  gathering  gloom,  as  she  leaned  back  with  her 
furs  round  her,  her  flushed,  glad  face  hidden  in  the 
darkness — only  visible  to  her  lord  in  flashes  as  they 
passed  a  lighted  shop  or  a  more  than  usually  bright 
gas-lamp — he  chuckled  over  her  triumph,  swore 
that  a  religious  woman  was  what  he  had  always 
wanted,  and  damned  himself  any  number  of  times 
if  she  were  not  the  best  gell  in  the  world. 

Thus  did  Hannah  make  her  entrance  on  the 
grand  stage  of  life.  Never  did  more  charmingly 
modest  creature  lend  attentive  ear  to  conversations 
that  had  no  interest  for  her,  or  present  more  sym- 
pathetic gaze  to  people  who  were  boring  her  to 
death.  And  after  singing  at  mothers'  meetings, 
handing  bread  and  butter  round  interminable 
tables,  chatting  amiably  to  garrulous  old  women  in 
stuffy  clothes,  she  gradually  emerged  through  the 
waste  places  of  the  East  to  the  comfortable  glory 
and  splendor  of  the  West.  She  became  the  friend 
— yes,  dear  reader,  the  friend — of  many  a  great 
lady,  she  was  among  the  guests  at  the  selectest 
receptions  in  Europe;  she  chatted  to  cabinet  minis- 
ters, to  ambassadors,  to  cardinals  and  bishops,  to 
dukes  and  duchesses,  to  great  generals,  and,  at 
last,  with  her  very  soul  on  fire,  she  talked  to  royalty. 
Her  name  appeared  in  the  papers  among  those  the 
hem  of  whose  garments  Mrs.  Bobby  would  have 
given  all  she  was  worth  to  touch.  She  went  to 


270  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

the  opera  in  state ;  she  dined  at  places  where  all  the 
world  might  see  her  glory ;  she  drove  through  the 
streets,  attracting  the  world's  gaze.  Everything  was 
hers.  She  might  go  whithersoever  she  wished, 
purchase  whatsoever  she  desired.  There  was  none 
to  say  her  No,  none  to  dash  the  cup  of  happiness 
from  her  lips.  All  that  she  had  ever  dreamed  of — 
if  we  except  the  trivial,  girlish  ambition  of  marrying 
the  man  she  loved — was  hers,  now  to  enjoy  to  her 
life's  end. 

And  the  earl  was  her  chief  abettor  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  this  heritage.  With  her  he,  too,  had 
emerged  from  obscurity.  No  longer  looked  at 
rather  doubtfully,  and  whispered  about,  when  he 
entered  his  club,  he  found  plenty  of  men  to  court 
him,  to  consult  him  on  the  subject  he  understood 
better  than  anyone  else  in  England,  even  to  listen 
to  him  when  he  discussed  general  politics.  And 
one  afternoon  he  went  down  to  the  House  of  Lords 
and  delivered  a  speech  of  half  an  hour  on  an  agri- 
cultural rating  bill  that  won  him  the  praise  of  the 
Prime  Minister.  "The  noble  earl's  interference  in  this 
debate,"  said  the  great  statesman,  "has  been  very 
happy ;  I  hope  we  may  have  the  privilege  of  listen- 
ing to  his  lordship  on  future  occasions."  And 
after  that  the  Prime  Minister's  daughter  left  cards 
on  Lady  Mane,  and  at  the  next  dinner-party  given 
by  the  Premier  the  Earl  and  Countess  of  Mane 
were  among  the  guests. 

There  were  other  reasons,  too,  for  his  lordship's 
great  contentment.  After  a  brief  delay  (caused  by 


HANNAH    DISTINGUISHES   HERSELF     271 

Mrs.  Whittle  having  consulted  a  friend  in  London 
on  the  subject)  the  answer  arrived  to  the  letter 
announcing  his  marriage — an  answer  full  of  deep 
humility,  and  desiring  to  remain  in  his  service  for 
another  year  or  two.  "Settled  old  Whittle,"  chuck- 
led the  earl,  in  the  privacy  of  his  study,  and  he 
locked  the  letter  away  with  Dick's  love  letters  to 
the  countess. 

Investments  happened  to  turn  out  well  at  this 
time,  and  interviews  with  his  solicitors  more  and 
more  impressed  his  mind  with  a  truth  he  had  always 
shrunk  from  believing — that  he  was  a  man  of  great 
possessions.  With  this  conviction  came  the  reali- 
zation that  he  was  growing  old,  very  old,  that  he 
could  not  hope  to  enjoy  his  treasure  for  many  years 
longer.  "Hang  me,"  cried  the  earl  to  himself,  "but 
I'll  have  a  splash  while  I'm  in  London,  an'  Han 
shall  enjoy  herself  like  a  lady." 

But  in  the  midst  of  this  glorious  success,  a  cloud 
sullenly  drifted  across  Hannah's  sun  and  darkened 
all  her  world.  A  sudden  change  came  over  her. 
She  stayed  long  hours  in  her  own  room.  She  re- 
fused invitations  that  a  week  before  would  have 
given  her  intensest  delight.  No  longer  she  accom- 
panied the  earl  and  Kyn  in  their  morning  expedi- 
tions to  the  British  Museum,  the  National  Gallery, 
the  Natural  History  Museum,  the  Crystal  Palace, 
the  Aquarium,  the  Zoological  Gardens.  She  pleaded 
she  was  not  well,  and  spent  the  slow  hours  sitting 
in  long-drawn  loneliness,  thinking,  thinking,  think- 
ing— as  only  women  can  think — of  a  single  subject 


272  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

at  one  single  point.  It  possessed  her  mind,  it  gov- 
erned all  her  thoughts.  From  it  she  could  no  more 
remove  her  attention  than  an  oak  can  uproot  itself. 
She  was  overtaken  by  Destiny  as  she  moved  across 
life's  stage,  and  for  her  now  the  play  had  no  inter- 
est. It  was  of  herself,  of  the  horror  of  her  bodily 
condition — such  she  considered  it — that  this  dream- 
ing woman  thought  through  the  long  days,  and  the 
long,  long  nights.  She  had  hoped  that  it  would 
be  impossible:  that  such  a  bitter,  humiliating  fate 
could  never  overtake  her.  But  it  was  not  only 
possible;  it  was  certain,  it  was  assured,  it  was 
here. 

At  first  she  wrestled  with  herself  in  secret,  then, 
after  a  month  of  this  bitter  introspection  had  worn 
away  all  her  protecting  affectation  and  left  her 
nerves  exposed  to  every  touch  of  the  coarse  thumb, 
she  took  counsel  with  her  mother,  shocking  that 
good  body  out  of  her  senses  by  what  Mrs.  Mersey 
considered  the  most  unnatural  and  wicked  state  of 
mind  that  any  woman  could  possibly  get  into. 

"Go  down  on  your  knees,  Hannah,"  cried  Mrs. 
Mersey  sternly,  "and  thank  God  for  His  great  bless- 
ing. There's  many  a  woman,  ay,  many  a  great  and 
noble  woman,  who  would  give  all  her  possessions 
for  what  you  blasphemously,  impiously  presume  to 
rail  against." 

But  Hannah  was  not  to  be  frightened  into  a 
good  and  beautiful  frame  of  mind.  She  shut  herself 
up,  moped  and  moaned  in  secret,  thought  many  and 
many  a  time  of  drinking  the  little  bottle  of  poison, 


HANNAH    DISTINGUISHES    HERSELF     273 

and  finally  came  to  the  conclusion  that  if  she  did 
not  leave  London  immediately  she  would  infallibly 
go  out  of  her  senses. 

"I  want  you,"  she  said  to  the  earl  one  day,  "to 
take  me  back  to  the  castle." 

"Why  ?"  said  my  lord,  spluttering  in  surprise. 

"Because  I  am  ill.    London  is  killing  me!" 

"Tell  us  the  truth !"  he  said  doggedly.  "I  don't 
like  secret  thoughts.  Don't  you  begin  that  game, 
attemptin'  to  keep  thin's  to  yourself.  Understand  ?" 

She  looked  hardly  at  him,  setting  her  teeth.  "I 
want  it  to  be  born  at  the  castle,"  she  said  bitterly. 

And  as  the  earl  clapped  his  hands,  danced  and 
chuckled,  and  shouted  excitedly,  she  flew  from  the 
room  to  bury  her  face  in  her  pillows  and  curse  her 
hideous  fate. 

"There !"  chuckled  the  panting  Lord  Mane  to 
himself,  "that's  what  I  call  a  religious  woman. 
Modest ! — she's  as  shy  as  an  angel.  She's  a  good 
gell,  a  damned  good  gell."  And  straightway  he  set 
about  making  preparations  for  the  family's  return 
to  Kyn  Castle,  rubbing  his  hands  together  in  huge 
delight,  and  chuckling  congratulations  to  himself 
on  his  great  good  fortune. 


XX 

HANNAH    LEAVES    THE    STAGE,    AND    MOPES    IN    THE 
WINGS 

IN  every  neighborhood  there  is  always  one 
gracious  old  lady  at  whose  feet  Society  cheer- 
fully elects  to  kneel.  When  her  carriage  pulls  on 
to  the  village  cricket-field  you  will  see  the  parson 
and  half  a  dozen  ladies  spring  up  to  greet  her,  the 
players  turn  their  heads  for  a  brief  minute  from 
the  wickets,  and  the  rustics  smoking  pipes  round 
the  refreshment-tent  elbow  each  other  and  jerk 
pipe-stems  in  her  direction.  She  is  always  the  great 
guest  at  every  garden-party,  and  the  first  person  to 
be  asked  to  patronize  a  bazaar  or  a  flower-show. 
To  her  side,  on  all  public  occasions,  crowd  the 
young  and  thoughtless  as  eagerly  as  the  old  and 
sober — all  anxious  to  pay  court  to  their  queen,  all 
feeling  that  to  omit  such  reverence  would  be  an 
unpardonable  affront.  And  how  few  the  words  she 
says  to  them!  A  sweet  smile,  a  gentle  bow,  and 
that  is  all.  But  to  touch  her  fingers  for  a  moment, 
to  be  the  recipient  for  one  second  of  her  gracious 
smile — this  is  to  go  on  one's  way  rejoicing,  happier 
and  better,  possessing  some  mystic  joy  that  fills  the 
hedgerows  of  life's  highway  with  scents  of  flowers 
and  songs  of  birds,  and  brings  the  sunbeams  danc- 
ing before  us  on  the  long  gray  road. 
274 


HANNAH  LEAVES  THE  STAGE  275 

In  the  neighborhood  of  Kyn  Castle  the  queen 
was  Lady  Dulverton,  the  white-haired  mother  of 
Sir  Michael.  God  knows  if  even  Hannah  could 
have  kept  silence  had  she  known  what  agony  this 
sweet  old  lady  endured  in  her  son's  disgrace  before 
the  eyes  of  the  world.  As  sweet  a  lady  as  ever 
loved  what  is  pure  and  clean,  as  ever  believed  in 
nobility  of  mind  and  the  love  of  the  Creator,  Lady 
Dulverton  had  lived  in  undisturbed  peace  of  mind 
for  many  happy  years,  her  only  grief  Sir  Michael's 
apparent  lack  of  initiative,  his  aversion  from  pub- 
licity, his  love  of  ease  and  privacy.  For  she  had 
hoped  to  see  him  ruling  England  ere  she  closed 
her  eyes  in  the  last  sleep,  she  had  prayed  that  he 
might  leave  to  generations  of  Englishmen  a  name 
of  strength  coupled  with  righteousness,  of  firmness 
linked  with  love.  That  had  been  her  training,  and 
the  result  was  what  Hannah  had  detected  in  his 
face.  Strength  was  there,  shining  out  of  the  eyes 
like  a  plume  on  a  knight's  casque ;  gentleness  was 
there,  like  sunbeams  rocked  on  the  waves  of  a 
mighty  sea. 

And  when  he  seemed  to  be  overcoming  his  dis- 
like of  publicity,  when  his  name  was  seldom  named 
in  the  newspapers  save  with  some  reference  to 
the  great  future  awaiting  him,  the  bolt  had  fallen 
from  the  blue ;  and  the  child  of  her  heart  was  driven 
back  from  the  great  world,  where  great  fame  is 
won  by  great  effort,  into  a  privacy  that  would  never 
be  broken.  This,  then,  was  Lady  Dulverton's  cross, 
and  though  she  still  smiled  graciously  on  the  world, 


276  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

and  be  sure  the  world  crowded  to  her  side  now 
with  greater  eagerness  than  ever  before,  the  poor 
old  lady's  heart  was  quite  broken,  and  she  longed 
sincerely  and  without  ceasing  to  shuffle  off  the  coil 
of  mortality. 

One  consolation,  however,  was  the  sudden  intro- 
duction into  her  life  of  the  young  Marquess  Escott. 
The  boy  with  his  winning  ways,  for  he  had  quite 
abandoned  the  premature  boredom  of  his  Oxford 
career,  with  his  enthusiasm  for  life,  his  great  cour- 
tesy, his  illimitable  admiration  of  Sir  Michael, 
brought  the  breath  of  hope  into  the  old  silent 
rooms  at  Slee-Marly,  and  brightened  the  gloom 
that  had  fallen  so  crushingly  upon  the  ancient 
house  of  Dulverton. 

Escott  had  plenty  of  time  to  devote  to  the  old 
lady,  for,  much  to  his  heart's  bitterness,  he  discov- 
ered on  the  very  day  of  his  arrival  that  the  beauti- 
ful Beatrice  had  withdrawn  the  light  of  her  coun- 
tenance from  the  rectory  and  was  actually  organiz- 
ing a  mission  in  some  dreary  quarter  of  the  town 
he  had  deserted  for  her  sake.  But  young  Lord 
Escott  did  not  sulk.  He  grew  ever  more  fond  of 
Dulverton,  and  whether  they  were  striding  over 
fields  quoting  now  Horace,  now  Scott,  now  Hazlitt, 
— or  panting  in  the  old  dismantled  schoolroom 
with  iron  masks  over  their  faces  and  foils  in  their 
hands, — Escott  felt  that  he  was  somehow  or  other 
better  for  companionship  with  Dulverton  and  that 
in  that  companionship  he  was  growing  gradually 
more  worthy  of  the  incomparable  Beatrice. 


HANNAH  LEAVES  THE  STAGE  277 

One  afternoon  Dulverton  and  Escott  were  strid- 
ing along  the  muddy  lanes  on  their  way  back  to 
tea  at  Slee-Marly,  when  a  humorous  passage  that 
Dulverton  was  quoting  from  Dickens,  much  to  the 
mirth  and  merriment  of  Escott,  was  interrupted  by 
the  sound  of  horses  thundering  along  behind  them. 
Dulverton  pushed  Escott  gently  to  the  side  of  the 
road,  and  half  turned  his  head  to  see  what  vehicle 
was  approaching.  "Hello !"  he  cried  abruptly,  and 
then  pushed  on  again,  resuming  his  quotation. 

In  another  minute  two  great  black  horses  pound- 
ing through  the  puddles,  swung  an  omnibus  past 
them,  an  omnibus  piled  with  luggage  on  the  top, 
and  containing  four  people  inside.  One  of  these 
four,  a  woman,  looked  quickly  at  the  pedestrians 
through  the  open  window  of  the  door,  and  then 
turned  her  gaze  hastily  away. 

"Lord  Mane  has  come  back,  then!"  said  Escott 
as  the  quotation  came  to  an  end. 

"Yes,"  said  Dulverton,  and  Escott  wondered  if 
he  had  offended  his  host  by  referring  so  abruptly 
to  the  mere  incident  of  a  carriage  passing  by,  in 
the  midst  of  a  delightful  conversation  about  Dick- 
ens, because  Dulverton  hardly  spoke  for  the  rest 
of  the  way. 

But  at  dinner  that  night  he  was  still  gloomy,  and 
instead  of  playing  billiards  after  Lady  Dulverton 
had  retired  for  the  night,  he  suggested  that  they 
should  dive  into  a  case  of  books  which  had  arrived 
from  London  that  afternoon.  And  when  Escott, 
with  four  or  five  volumes  on  his  knees,  happened, 


278  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

in  turning  a  leaf,  to  glance  in  Dulverton's  direc- 
tion, he  noticed  that  the  shadow  was  still  there, 
that  Dulverton  sat  staring  blindly  at  the  book  be- 
fore him,  reading  nothing,  seeing  nothing,  heeding 
nothing. 

It  occurred  to  Escott  at  last  that  the  momentary 
sight  of  Lord  Mane  had  perhaps  revived  in  Dul- 
verton's  breast  memories  of  his  downfall,  had  made 
him  realize  once  again  that  his  career  was  ruined. 
Filled  with  sympathy  for  the  man  overthrown  on 
the  threshold  of  his  ambition,  Escott  quietly  slipped 
the  books  onto  a  table  at  his  side,  and  went  quietly 
from  the  room.  In  the  hall  he  lighted  a  cigarette, 
and  then  going  to  the  porch  of  the  front  door, 
stood  there  looking-  out  on  the  night. 

Dulverton  did  not  say  a  word  when  he  went,  and 
only  the  closing  of  the  door  seemed  to  rouse  him 
from  his  stupor.  He  looked  round,  saw  he  was 
alone,  and  then  resting  his  head  on  his  hands, 
leaned  forward,  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  re- 
newed his  meditations. 

After  some  minutes  he  rose  from  the  chair  and 
walked  to  and  fro  in  the  room.  "The  devil  take 
her !"  he  said,  with  a  little  laugh ;  "I  won't  bother 
my  head  any  more !"  He  went  to  the  mantelpiece, 
selected  a  pipe,  examined  the  bowl  with  great  care 
to  see  if  it  were  quite  empty,  and  then  leisurely 
filled  it  with  tobacco.  "The  devil  take  her!"  he 
laughed  again,  looking  at  the  tobacco  as  he  gently 
loaded  the  bowl ;  "what  does  it  matter  ?  Fah !  the 
devil  take  her!" 


HANNAH  LEAVES  THE  STAGE  279 

And  the  next  minute  he  had  his  arm  through 
Escott's,  leading  the  wondering  young  marquess 
from  the  porch  to  the  billiard-room,  laughing,  chat- 
ting, and  saying  all  manner  of  bright  things  as  they 
passed  on  their  way. 

The  brief  sight  of  Dulverton,  a  sight  at  once  so 
sudden  and  unexpected,  had  produced  stronger 
effects  upon  Hannah.  Her  gloom  deepened  when 
she  saw  him.  A  scowl  swept  across  her  brows; 
sullen  anger  loomed  in  her  eyes ;  unlovely  defiance 
sat  upon  her  lips.  She  alone  had  seen  him,  and  she 
did  not  tell  Lord  Mane,  or  her  mother,  as  the  omni- 
bus bore  them  swiftly  forward,  that  Sir  Michael 
Dulverton,  the  innocent  man  whom  she  might 
have  saved,  the  man  whom  she  loved  in  her  own 
selfish  fashion,  had  been  the  first  of  their  acquaint- 
ances in  Kyn  to  look  into  her  eyes. 

She  was  still  thinking  of  this  meeting,  wonder- 
ing whether  she  would  see  Dulverton  often, 
whether  he  would  cut  her  or  reproach  her  for  his 
ruin  in  secret — when  the  omnibus  came  to  a  stop, 
the  door  was  opened,  the  steps  unfolded  them- 
selves, and  she  found  herself  standing  in  the  great 
hall — face  to  face  with  Mrs.  Whittle. 

It  was  something  of  a  shock  to  Hannah,  this 
sudden  appearance  of  her  old  enemy.  So  engrossed 
had  she  been  with  her  own  moody  thoughts  that 
for  the  last  quarter  of  an  hour  the  very  existence 
of  this  woman  had  been  blotted  out  of  her  mind. 

For  a  brief  second  they  faced  each  other  stonily ; 
then  Mrs.  Whittle  half  bowed,  and  Hannah  mur- 


280  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

mured  something — a  word  of  greeting  in  a  tone 
of  contempt.  There,  slightly  bowing,  stood  the 
housekeeper  in  her  decent  black,  unrelieved  by 
ornament  or  color  at  any  point ;  and  before  her,  with 
furs  loosened  so  that  the  delicate  lace  about  her 
throat,  pinned  there  with  a  jewel,  and  falling  down 
over  her  bosom,  was  visible — mockingly,  trium- 
phantly visible  in  all  its  soft  rich  beauty — stood  the 
wife  of  Lord  Mane,  proud  and  defiant. 

The  beautiful  young  countess,  with  flushed 
cheeks  and  eyes  that  sparkled  in  the  bright  lights, 
drew  off  her  gloves,  and  Mrs.  Whittle,  under  her 
heavy  brows,  watched  the  firelight  shining  on  those 
long  brown  hands  and  on  the  ring  of  gold.  Han- 
nah, looking  in  her  direction,  saw  the  under  lip 
drawn  quickly  in,  and  could  see  the  stiffening  of  her 
jaws. 

At  this  moment  the  earl  came  bustling  in  with 
his  hat  very  much  over  his  eyes,  his  hands  grop- 
ing, so  it  seemed,  for  threepenny  bits  at  the  bot- 
tom of  his  overcoat  pockets.  When  he  came  oppo- 
site the  housekeeper,  he  jerked  out  one  of  his 
hands,  extended  it,  said  "How  do,  Whittle,"  and 
dropping  the  cold  fingers  that  closed  almost  trag- 
ically round  his  hand,  bustled  off  to  his  room, 
humming,  muttering,  stamping  his  feet,  and  mak- 
ing those  puffing  sounds  in  which  a  man  indulges 
on  a  freezing  cold  morning. 

Mrs.  Mersey,  who  had  the  sleeping  Kyn  in  her 
fat,  motherly  arms,  gave  Mrs.  Whittle  a  brisk  smile 
and  a  friendly  little  nod,  and  followed  Hannah  to 


HANNAH  LEAVES  THE  STAGE  281 

the  staircase.  No,  she  would  on  no  account  allow 
anybody  to  take  the  child  out  of  her  arms.  A 
bother?  A  burden?  Bless  his  dear  little  heart,  she 
could  carry  him  a  hundred  miles! 

Mrs.  Whittle  went  with  the  countess  to  the  room 
selected  for  Mrs.  Mersey's  abode,  and  then  re- 
turned with  Hannah  along  the  corridor,  like  a 
shadow  following  a  man  on  a  moon-white  road. 
They  stopped  at  Hannah's  door. 

"Do  you  wish  to  give  me  any  orders,  my  lady?" 
she  said,  her  head  slightly  inclined,  her  voice  slightly 
contemptuous. 

"Yes,"  said  Hannah,  entering  her  boudoir. 

Mrs.  Whittle,  surprised  by  the  girl's  proud  defi- 
ance, followed  her  into  the  brightly  lighted  room, 
where  a  fire  was  burning  merrily,  and  where  Han- 
nah's maid,  with  bonnet  and  jacket  still  on,  was 
busily  carrying  boxes  and  bags  from  the  boudoir 
to  the  bedroom  beyond. 

"Wait  in  the  bedroom,  Simpson,"  said  the  coun- 
tess. 

The  girl  retired  and  shut  the  door. 

Then  Hannah  turned  and  faced  Mrs.  Whittle. 
The  scowl  was  back  in  her  young  eyes,  hatred  and 
contempt  hardened  the  lines  of  her  mouth. 

Mrs.  Whittle  returned  the  stare  with  dull,  pas- 
sionless aversion.  No  longer  was  the  head  bowed, 
no  longer  was  there  any  affectation  of  servility. 

"Well,"  she  said  suddenly,  "what  are  your  or- 
ders?" 

Hannah  came  nearer.  "I'll  have  no  spying  in  my 
house,"  she  said.  "That's  all.  Go." 


282  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

Mrs.  Whittle  stood  for  a  moment  glaring  at  her 
in  dumb  wonderment. 

"Go !"  said  Hannah,  with  eyes  blazing,  her  finger 
pointing  to  the  door.  "When  I  want  you,  I'll  ring 
for  you.  Go !" 

For  one  moment  hate's  red  flame  leaped  up  and 
swept  the  swarthy  cheeks  of  the  black-browed 
woman.  Then  she  turned  meekly  away  and  left 
the  room. 

"I'll  break  her,  break  her !"  cried  Hannah  to  her- 
self, with  set  teeth  and  sparkling  eyes.  "I'll  have 
her  cower  under  my  gaze.  I'll  have  her  tremble 
when  she  comes  into  my  presence.  I'll  have  her 
crouch  when  I  approach,  skulk  when  she  hears 
my  voice,  quail  and  shiver  before  me  like  a  dog !" 

These  very  unlovely  sentiments  were  the  result 
of  two  things.  In  the  first  place  Hannah's  condi- 
tion had  made  her  so  loathe  life  that  she  now  cared 
not  a  jot  for  the  consequences  of  indulging  any 
passing  whim  or  caprice.  She  hated  life,  hated  her- 
self, and  in  this  frame  of  mind  the  desire  to  exert 
her  authority  and  inflict  pain  on  those  whom  she 
considered  her  enemies  was  as  strong  as  an  ocean 
tide  which  nothing  can  hold  back.  In  the  second 
place,  hating  herself  and  dreading  the  hour  of  her 
delivery  as  a  soldier  might  dread  the  moment  of  his 
degradation,  she  had  seen  unexpectedly  the  man 
she  loved,  the  man  she  would  once  have  sacrificed 
all  her  ambition  to  marry.  The  one  cause  reacted 
on  the  other,  and  the  consequence  was  the  tigerish 
boldness  with  which  she  greeted  the  housekeeper, 


HANNAH  LEAVES  THE  STAGE          283 

and  those  revolting  sentiments  which,  as  we  have 
seen,  possessed  her  storm-tossed  mind. 

Only  to  the  earl  did  Hannah  make  any  effort 
to  control  her  passion,  and  yet  it  was  the  earl,  the 
cause  of  all  her  degradation,  that  she  hated  more 
than  anyone  about  her.  In  striving  to  please  him 
she  found  a  certain  grim  relief  for  her  suppressed 
emotions,  and  though  she  cursed  his  name  in  her 
heart,  she  would  walk  by  his  side  over  the  mead- 
ows, particularly  if  he  was  walking  near  Slee-Marly, 
and  laugh  with  him  and  chat  with  him  and  make 
him  as  happy  as  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life. 

Once  in  these  walks  she  saw  Dulverton  and  Es- 
cott,  and  then  she  passed  her  arm  through  the 
earl's,  leaned  down  and  laughed  happily  in  his  face. 
She  did  not  bow  to  Dulverton,  but  she  looked  up 
and  saw  that  he  was  regarding  her  with  that  old, 
grave,  reproachful  expression,  half  kind,  half  angry, 
which  she  had  known  so  well  in  the  days  gone  by. 

"There's  old  Dulv  over  there !"  exclaimed  Lord 
Mane.  "What  ought  we  to  do?  Shall  I  give  him 
a  nod,  eh?" 

"No,"  said  Hannah. 

"He  did  me  a  good  turn,  Han — and  you,  too!" 

"Cut  him !"  she  said ;  "look  straight  in  his  eyes 
and  cut  him  dead !" 

The  earl  chuckled  and  obeyed  her.  "He  won't 
interfere  in  my  domestic  arrangements  a  second 
time,  that's  evident  1"  he  laughed. 

"No,"  said  Hannah,  "he  will  never  do  that." 

The  weeks  went  by,  and  the  time  came  when 


284  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

Hannah  no  longer  walked  over  the  fields  or  went 
through  the  farm.  The  time  came  when  even  the 
earl  left  her  very  much  alone,  when  he  told  Mrs. 
Mersey  that  if  her  daughter  didn't  alter  after  the 
birth  of  the  child  he  would  have  to  make  other 
arrangements  for  her  comfort.  "Damme,  ma'am," 
he  expostulated,  "never  in  her  worst  moments  did 
my  last  wife  dare  to  look  at  me  and  speak  to  me 
as  your  confounded  daughter  does !" 

Mrs.  Mersey  was  ready  with  a  hundred  excuses. 
The  earl  must  wait  till  the  trouble  was  over,  till 
the  child  was  born.  Many  women,  some  of  the 
sweetest,  suffered  as  Hannah  suffered  now.  Let 
him  be  patient.  Avoid  Hannah  as  much  as  possible 
for  the  present,  and  in  a  few  days'  time  the  old 
happy  relations  would  exist  again. 

It  is  impossible  to  express  adequately  in  words 
the  change  that  had  come  over  Hannah.  She  was 
acting  no  longer,  and  the  sullen  passion  of  her 
character,  so  long  suppressed  and  held  down  for 
mere  self-advancement,  now  dominated  her  whole 
being.  She  took  a  savage  pleasure  in  seeking  out 
Mrs.  Whittle  and  blaming  her  for  the  most  trifling 
neglect  on  the  part  of  some  underservant.  She 
would  make  the  housekeeper  follow  her  from  room 
to  room  as  she  pointed  out  with  scorn  and  upbraid- 
ing how  this  chair  had  been  undusted,  this  corner 
unswept,  this  table  of  ornaments  disarranged.  At 
one  moment  she  even  threatened  to  dismiss  the 
housekeeper  if  things  did  not  improve,  longing 
;with  animal  fury  for  the  woman  to  resist  her  will 


HANNAH  LEAVES  THE   STAGE  285 

and  appeal  to  the  earl.  For  Hannah,  in  her  un- 
governable fiend-fury,  was  desperate,  and  thirsted 
for  opportunities  that  would  bring  her  will  into 
opposition  with  others.  But,  to  her  surprise,  Mrs. 
Whittle  bowed  her  head  and  was  silent.  Whatever 
Hannah  said,  this  strange  woman  was  ready  with 
abject  apology.  She  yielded  to  Hannah  as  a  child 
to  his  parent's  chastisement.  And  with  this  meek 
submission  a  new  joy  arose  in  Hannah's  heart ;  she 
bullied,  she  scorned,  she  threatened,  she  mocked. 
The  joy  of  exercising  her  hatred  and  vexation  on 
one  who  yielded  to  her — one  who  had  been  her 
enemy,  one  before  whom  she  had  once  been  obliged 
to  bow — gave  her  the  bully's  zest  for  life,  and  she 
redoubled  her  efforts  to  make  the  housekeeper's 
lot  as  like  hell  as  one  mortal  can  make  this  earth 
for  another. 

"  Tis  nature,"  says  Thackeray,  "hath  fashioned 
some  for  ambition  and  dominion,  as  it  hath  formed 
others  for  obedience  and  gentle  submission.  The 
leopard  follows  his  nature  as  the  lamb  does,  and 
acts  after  leopard  laws :  she  can  neither  help  her 
beauty,  nor  her  courage,  nor  her  cruelty,  nor  a 
single  spot  on  her  shining  coat,  nor  the  conquering 
spirit  which  impels  her,  nor  the  shot  which  brings 
her  down." 

And,  reader,  all  this  leopard  cruelty,  all  this  fiend- 
like  rebellion  against  destiny,  was  caused  by  the 
drawing  near  of  that  moment — surely  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  in  life — when  a  woman  loses  that 
self-concentration  which  is  the  inevitable  fate  of 
man,  and  becomes  two  selves — herself,  her  child. 


XXI 

IN    WHICH    TIMOTHY    BUDGE    HANGS   OUT    A   UNION 
JACK 

BEATRICE  HADDON  had  returned  to  the 
rectory,  and,  so  the  gods  willed  it,  Escott  at 
this  time  was  paying  the  Dulvertons  another  visit. 
He  had  seen  her  in  church  on  Sunday,  watched  her 
at  the  organ,  spoken  to  her  after  the  service;  and 
now,  on  Monday  morning — such  a  jolly,  crisp  winter 
morning — he  was  swinging  merrily  down  the  hard, 
firm  road  towards  the  village  of  Kyn,  in  the  hope 
of  meeting  her,  speaking  to  her,  looking  at  her, 
holding  her  hand  for  one  short  minute.  At  the 
"Cripple's  Ease"  he  stopped  to  exchange  a  word 
with  old  Timothy  Budge — still  in  his  shirt  sleeves, 
still  smoking  a  churchwarden  pipe,  still  sitting  on 
the  bench  outside  the  little  whitewashed  inn. 

"What,  Budge !"  cried  Escott,  swinging  his  stick 
as  he  pulled  up  beside  the  beech  tree,  "aren't  you 
cold  like  all  the  rest  of  the  world  this  fine  winter 


morning 


Timothy  pushed  himself  laboriously  with  one 
hand  from  off  the  bench,  and,  sucking  at  his  pipe, 
hobbled  slowly  to  Escott. 

"There'll  be  church  bells  ringing  pretty  soon,  my 
lord!"  said  he,  grinning  with  his  eyes  while  his 

mouth  preserved  the  solemnest  of  expressions. 

286 


TIMOTHY   BUDGE  287 

Escott  colored,  tapped  his  thick  boots  with  his 
stick,  looked  down,  and  then  looked  up  into  Tim- 
othy's eyes.  "Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Budge?— 
I  don't  understand." 

Old  Timothy  drew  down  the  corner  of  his  mouth, 
puffed  at  his  pipe,  and  winked.  "I  was  just  think- 
ing at  that  very  moment,"  he  said,  "of  stepping 
over  to  the  rectory.  I  was  thinking,  my  lord,  that 
the  parson  ought  to  hear  of  it."  He  tenderly  slipped 
the  fingers  of  one  hand  down  into  his  trouser 
pocket,  jerked  his  knees  mischievously  forward, 
and  once  again  winked  his  eye. 

Escott  laughed. 

"Oh,  it'll  be  fine  times,  sure  enough!"  chuckled 
Timothy.  "There'll  be  flags  and  streamers,  not  a 
doubt  about  it;  and  dinners  and  speeches  and  fine 
goings-on.  You'll  see,  my  lord,  what  we  little 
people  down  in  these  benighted  parts,  so  to  speak, 
can  do  when  we've  a  mind  to  it.  We'll  show  you 
what  we  did  back  along  in  the  Jubilee.  Shouldn't 
wonder  if  we  didn't  give  you  a  bonfire  up  on  Cackle 
Hill!" 

Escott  said  that  Timothy  was  exceedingly  kind, 
but  really 

"And  it'll  bring  the  earl  out— see  if  it  don't!" 
said  Timothy.  "It'll  make  a  man  of  him.  We'll 
have  him  speechifying  and  cursing  and  chuckling 
same  as  he  used  to  do  back  in  the  old  earl's  time. 
It's  fine,  fine!"  exclaimed  Timothy,  squaring  his 
shoulders,  and  resuming  his  pipe.  "I  like  a  bit  o* 
fun  in  the  village.  I'd  like  to  see  it  happen  once 


288  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

a  week.    Yes,  and  why  not  ?    It's  good  for  trade ; 
it's  good  for  people  to  be  cheered  up,  and " 

He  stopped  suddenly,  brought  the  hand  in  his 
trouser  pocket  slowly  up  to  his  brow,  ducked  his 
knees  forward,  bowed  his  head,  and  to  someone 
beyond  Escott,  exclaimed :  "Good  morning,  Miss ; 
good  morning!" 

Escott  spun  round  on  his  heel,  and  to  his  horror 
saw  Beatrice  Haddon  approaching. 

"Good  morning,  Budge!"  she  cried  cheerfully. 
Then,  with  a  pretty  smile,  she  gave  Escott  her 
hand.  "Budge !"  she  cried,  "do  you  never  wear  a 
coat,  never  even  button  up  your  waistcoat?  It's 
winter,  Budge,  winter ;  and  it's  freezing  hard." 

"Just  what  I  was  saying,"  laughed  Escott,  swing- 
ing his  stick  very  much  and  looking  first  into  Miss 
Haddon's  eyes,  then  at  the  church  tower,  then  at  his 
own  boots,  then  into  those  dark  eyes  again,  then 
up  into  the  boughs  of  the  beech  tree,  then  at  the 
little  brown  curls  against  her  lovely  neck,  then 
into  the  windows  of  the  inn,  then  at  her  mouth, 
then  at  her  eyes — where  they  rested  so  long  that 
Beatrice  had  to  return  the  stare,  and  then  they  both 
laughed,  and  both  turned  to  look  at  Timothy,  and 
said  how  ridiculous  it  was  of  him  to  be  standing 
about  in  the  open  air  without  a  coat  on  such  a  cold 
and  frosty  morning. 

But  Timothy,  all  this  time,  was  sidling  nearer 
and  nearer  to  Beatrice  with  that  knowing  look  of 
his — the  laughing  eyes,  the  serious  mouth — the 
long  churchwarden  pipe  held  away  from  him,  one 


TIMOTHY  BUDGE  289 

tfionitory  finger  of  his  empty  hand  raised  tragically 
to  prepare  her  mind  for  a  great  mystery. 

"I've  just  told  Lord  Escott,  Miss,"  he  began  in  a 
sort  of  hoarse  whisper,  "we  shall  soon  be  having 
flags  flying,  and  streamers,  like  it  was  back  in  the 
Jubilee!" 

Escott  cleared  his  throat,  went  as  red  as  his  wool- 
len waistcoat,  and  kept  his  eyes  on  the  ground. 
He  felt  half  inclined  to  run  away. 

"What  on  earth  do  you  mean,  Budge  ?"  laughed 
Beatrice,  utterly  perplexed. 

"Oh,  but  it's  so — certain  sure,"  chuckled  old 
Timothy.  "There'll  be  flags,  and  streamers,  and — 
church  bells  ringing  from  morning  to  night.  Won't 
there,  though?  Oh,  I  know  all  about  it!  Old 
Timothy  can  see  how  things  are  going !" 

This  time  Beatrice  looked  a  little  nervous.  "Is 
anyone  going  to  be  married,  then  ?"  she  asked. 

Timothy  exploded  in  a  roar  of  laughter,  holding 
his  sides,  spinning  slowly,  very  slowly  round,  on 
one  heel.  Poor  Escott  was  now  the  color  of  a 
turkey-cock.  Beatrice,  too,  was  growing  red.  They 
looked  at  each  other,  and  then  both  looked  con- 
fusedly in  opposite  directions.  "How  on  earth," 
each  of  them  was  thinking,  "how  on  earth  has  old 
Timothy,  of  all  people  in  the  world,  guessed  our 
secret  thoughts?" 

"I  think,"  said  Escott  hastily,  "we  had  better 
leave  Budge  to  his  joke ;  it  is  evidently  a  very  good 
one,  and  excellent  company.  He  won't  miss  us!" 

"Oh,  don't  go!"   cried,  literally  cried,  old  Tim- 


290  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

othy,  wiping  away  the  tears  from  his  eyes.  "Oh, 
don't  go!  Wait  a  minute,  Miss,  just  one  minute 
till  I  fetches  my  breath.  Lord  love  me,  but  you 
have  made  me  laugh!  A  wedding!  Somebody 
going  to  get  married !"  He  began  to  laugh  again, 
but  suddenly  stopped  as  the  sound  of  carriage 
wheels  drew  near.  He  grew  very  serious.  "Wait, 
wait!"  he  said,  and  shuffled  forward  in  his  carpet 
slippers.  A  carriage  came  round  the  corner.  Tim- 
othy stopped  it  with  uplifted  pipe.  He  exchanged 
a  word  with  the  doctor  inside,  and  then  gave  a 
great  bellowing  cheer  with  his  pipe  high  over  his 
head. 

"Hooray !  Hooray !"  he  cried.  "It's  a  boy !  It's 
a  boy,  Miss,  a  fat  boy !  Be  so  good,  Miss,  as  to  let 
papa  know  it  at  once.  The  bells  ought  to  be  ring- 
ing now.  A  boy !  He  said  it  was  a  great,  fat  boy ! 
Dang  it,  but  I  must  hang  my  Union  Jack  out. 
Always  the  first,  my  Jack  is.  Ho !  there,  Martha, 
get  out  the  flag.  It's  a  boy,  a  whooping,  great 
chap,  size  of  a  red  Injun!"  And  he  disappeared 
through  the  doorway  of  his  inn,  leaving  poor  Lord 
Escott  confronting  Beatrice  Haddon  with  a  face 
destitute  of  all  expression  save  utter,  irremediable 
confusion. 

At  last  Beatrice  found  her  voice.  "Old  Timothy 
is  very  delighted.  Of  course  one  ought  to  have 
known  what  he  meant." 

"Of  course,"  laughed  Escott  bravely.  "Of 

course.  But  I  hadn't  heard  anything  about " 

He  stopped  and  coughed  violently,  then  blew  his 


TIMOTHY  BUDGE  291 

nose,  then  wished  himself  at  the  devil.  Beatrice 
said  she  must  return  to  the  rectory.  Escott  walked 
by  her  side. 

"We  shall  soon  be  skating,"  said  Beatrice. 

"If  it  doesn't  thaw,"  he  said  sententiously. 

"Yes,  if  it  doesn't  thaw,"  she  answered. 

"Awfully  jolly  these  cold  mornings,"  he  said, 
after  a  pause,  with  no  end  of  vigor  and  manly  cheer- 
mess. 

"Aren't  they  ?  I  love  the  winter  almost  as  much 
as  the  summer." 

"So  do  I.  But  we  get  such  few  real  winters 
nowadays." 

"We  were  skating  last  year !"  she  said  reproach- 
fully. 

"So  we  were,  of  course.  Is  it  good  skating 
here?" 

"Oh,  very.  We  had  some  delightful  games  of 
hockey  on  the  ice  just  before  Christmas." 

"Really,"  said  Escott,  as  if  he  were  saying  some- 
thing of  extraordinary  intellectual  value. 

They  had  walked  very  fast,  and  were  at  the  rec- 
tory gate.  "Will  you  come  in?"  she  said. 

He  looked  into  her  eyes  for  the  first  time  since 
they  had  left  Timothy.  She  smiled.  He  smiled 
too.  Then  they  laughed. 

In  another  minute  they  were  their  actual  selves, 
old  Budge  was  quite  forgotten,  and  Escott  was 
walking  cheerfully  by  her  side  towards  the  rectory. 

And  while  the  village  bells  were  ringing,  as  old 
Timothy  had  predicted  they  would,  and  while  a 


292  THE   FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

little  solitary  Union  Jack  fluttered  lightly  over  the 
door  of  the  "Cripple's  Ease,"  Hannah,  leaning  on 
an  elbow,  was  looking  with  hungry  eyes  towards 
the  hearthrug  where  a  nurse  knelt  over  a  great 
roly-poly  bundle  of  white  flannel  before  a  blazing 
fire. 

"You're  sure  there's  nothing  wrong  with  him  ?" 
she  said. 

"Nothing,  my  lady.    He's  perfect." 

She  sighed  deliciously.  "When  may  I  have  him 
again  ?" 

"Not  now,  my  lady.  You  really  ought  to  sleep 
and  rest,  you  really  ought." 

"Oh,  I  can't  sleep !  I  want  to  have  him  with  me. 
I  want  to  hold  him  in  my  arms  again.  His  eyes  are 
quite  brown,  aren't  they?" 

"The  very  color  of  yours." 

"Are  they?  And  he's  got  a  lot  of  hair,  hasn't 
he — more  than  is  usual,  I  mean?" 

"But  that  will  all  come  off,"  said  the  nurse. 

"Come  off!"  said  Hannah.  "You  don't  mean 
he's  going  to  lose  all  that  beautiful  brown  hair! 
Oh,  nurse,  he  isn't  going  to  be  a  bald  baby  ?" 

"It  will  grow  again.  Now,  really,  your  ladyship 
must  rest  quiet  and  ask  no  more  questions." 

"Let  my  mother  come  and  see  him,"  Hannah 
begged. 

"She  has  seen  him,  my  lady,  already." 

"But  here,  I  mean,  here  where  I  can  see  her 
looking  at  him." 

"Will  you  promise  me,  then,  to  rest  quiet  after?" 


TIMOTHY  BUDGE  293 

"Yes,  I  promise,"  said  Hannah. 

The  roly-poly  bundle  was  delivered  with  infinite 
care  into  Hannah's  arms,  and  then  the  nurse  went 
off  to  find  Mrs.  Mersey,  wondering  greatly  at  the 
change  in  the  countess.  A  week  ago  Hannah  had 
refused  to  see  her,  refused  to  speak  a  word  to  her. 
And  when  she  was  called  suddenly  to  the  bedroom 
in  the  small  hours  of  the  morning,  the  woman  she 
tended  was  a  fierce  tigerish  animal,  glaring  at  her 
with  furious  eyes,  muttering  words  that  made  her 
shudder  and  turn  cold.  But  when  the  child  cried, 
when  she  felt  the  little  body  laid  against  her  breast, 
she  had  opened  her  eyes,  with  a  smile  almost  di- 
vine, and  awoke  a  woman,  a  mother. 

Mrs.  Mersey  entered  the  room  on  tiptoe. 

"He's  an  angel,"  she  whispered. 

"Isn't  he!"  sighed  Hannah.  "Have  you  seen 
him  with  his  eyes  open  ?  And  look,  mother,  at  his 
fingers !  Look  at  the  little  tiny  pink  nails !" 

Mrs.  Mersey  stooped  and  kissed  her  daughter. 

"He's  perfect,  my  dear,  and  the  earl's  delighted." 

"Our  son  and  heir!"  sighed  Hannah. 

"Son,  but  not  the  heir,  darling,"  said  Mrs.  Mer- 
sey. 

The  smile  died  from  Hannah's  face.  She  fixed 
her  eyes  on  Mrs.  Mersey  as  though  not  under- 
standing what  had  been  said.  Then  her  lips  tight- 
ened. 

"You  mustn't  forget  poor  little  Kyn,"  said  Mrs. 
Mersey. 

Hannah  only  stared. 


294  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

"And  now  I  must  run  away,  or  nurse  will  be  re- 
porting me  to  the  doctor."  She  stooped,  kissed 
Hannah,  who  remained  lying  back  staring  dumbly 
into  her  eyes,  then  leaned  over  to  kiss  the  babe. 
But  at  that  moment  Hannah  swiftly  gathered  the 
child  to  her  breast,  bent  over  him,  so  as  to  protect 
him  from  her  mother,  and  the  old  fierce  animal 
look  burned  once  more  in  her  dark  eyes.  As  Mrs. 
Mersey  turned  away,  the  child  broke  into  a  loud  cry. 

We  now  return  to  Escott,  who  has  uttered  his 
farewells  to  Miss  Haddon — the  exquisite  Beatrice 
whose  solemn  dark  eyes  and  wondrous  proud 
mouth  reminded  so  many  people  of  La  Cenci — and 
who  now  is  walking  back  to  Slee-Marly  alternately 
blessing  and  cursing  himself  for  the  events  of  that 
day.  There  he  had  stood  like  a  village  oaf  before 
old  Timothy  (damn  old  Timothy !)  thinking  that  the 
old  idiot  was  talking  about  his  heart's  secret ;  think- 
ing, too,  that  Beatrice  had  the  same  notion — Beat- 
rice, who  probably  never  guessed  for  a  moment 
that  he  loved  her.  Yes,  decidedly,  damn  old  Tim- 
othy. But  he  must  do  something  besides  cursing 
Budge.  He  must  really  say  something,  look  some- 
thing, do  something,  to  make  Beatrice  realize  that 
he  worshiped  those  hard  roads  on  which  she  walked, 
that  a  word  from  her  lips  rang  through  his  soul 
like  the  choir  of  Seraphim  and  Cherubim,  that  a 
glance  from  her  eyes  illuminated  all  his  being  with 
the  radiance  of  Paradise. 

Simple,  simple  young  gentleman !  Your  very  un- 
heroic  behavior  this  morning;  your  stammering 


TIMOTHY   BUDGE  295 

tongue ;  your  blushing  cheek ;  the  moisture  of  ner- 
vousness in  your  eyes,  have  told  the  adorable  one, 
in  accents  clearer  than  silver  tongue  of  Romeo, 
that  you  love  her  in  the  only  way  an  Englishman 
ever  does  love — body  and  soul,  but  as  dumbly  as 
the  flower  loves  the  sun! 

He  met  Dulverton  in  the  hall,  coming  out  of  the 
study  with  a  packet  of  letters  in  his  hand.  The 
baronet  looked  gloomy  and  morose. 

"Has  our  army  entered  Paris,  or  has  Miss  Corelli 
written  another  novel?"  he  asked. 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  Escott  replied. 

"Why  are  the  bells  making  this  infernal  clatter?" 
Dulverton  returned. 

"Oh,  those  bells !"  Escott  laughed.  "No ;  they're 
ringing  to  the  honor  and  glory  of  Lord  Mane.  The 
Countess  has  presented  him  with  a  boy." 

Dulverton's  brow  knitted  and  he  gave  a  little 
start.  "Are  you  quite  sure  ?"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"The  authority  is  infallible.  Timothy  Budge  and 
my  lady's  doctor." 

Dulverton  went  to  the  letter-bag,  dropped  all  his 
letters  in  save  one,  and  then  looking  at  this  one 
doubtfully  he  returned  slowly  to  his  study.  Escott 
went  on.  to  the  morning-room  to  find  Lady  Dulver- 
ton. 

In  th~e  study  Sir  Michael,  after  much  weighing  of 
the  letter  in  his  hand,  much  thought,  much  walking 
to  and  fro,  broke  open  the  envelope,  drew  out  the 
letter,  read  it  through  several  times,  then  tore  it 
in  two.  After  that  he  sat  down  before  his  table 


296  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

and  looked  out  through  the  window  over  the  green 
fields  on  which  the  white  frost  still  lingered.  For 
many  long  minutes  he  sat  there,  as  though  uncon- 
vinced of  his  wisdom  in  tearing  up  the  letter  that 
now  lay  broken-backed  in  the  paper-basket,  then, 
finally,  he  took  up  a  pen  and  wrote  another  letter. 
He  had  sealed1  down  the  envelope  and  was  writing 
the  address  when  Lady  Dulverton  and  Escott  en- 
tered the  room. 

"Lunch,  Michael,"  said  the  old  lady,  laying  her 
wrinkled  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "Ah!"  she  ex- 
claimed, seeing  the  name  on  the  envelope,  "that 
letter  has  cost  you  much  to  write,  dear!" 

He  looked  up  in  her  face.  "No,  dearest,  not  a 
wince.  I've  accepted  after  all." 

"Accepted !"  she  cried.  "Have  you,  have  you 
really  accepted,  Michael?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  rising.  "And  I  feel  you  are 
right.  All  the  world  that  counts  believes  I  am 
innocent.  They  want  me  back ;  I  will  go  back.  I 
will  fight  all  the  harder  for  the  overthrow.  It  is 
folly  to  sit  here  moping." 

There  was  a  light  of  courage  and  triumph  in  Sir 
Michael's  face,  but  it  was  as  Cimmerian  darkness 
to  the  white  light  of  pure  joy  that  shone  in  the 
face  of  his  mother. 

As  they  walked  to  the  dining-room  Michael  told 
Escott  that  his  party  wanted  him  back,  that  Lord 
Pewsey  had  written  begging  him  to  stand  for  the 
Farndon  Division,  and  that  he  was  going  to  re- 
enter  public  life. 


XXII 

BREAKING  THE  ICE 

SNOW  over  all  the  earth,  hard,  white,  sparkling 
snow,  with  a  bright  blue,  cloudless  sky — bel- 
lied like  some  titanic  sail — stretching  over  the  glis- 
tening, tumbled  scene.  The  robins  sang  lustily  on 
the  trees,  the  chaffinches  darted  and  dived  after 
one  another  in  the  white  branches,  and  everywhere 
fell  the  sunbeams  in  powdered  gold,  informing 
the  cold,  dead-white  snow  with  a  warmth  and  a  color 
hardly  less  than  the  vitality  of  life.  It  sparkled  on 
Cackle  Hill,  this  warm  snow,  over  the  charred  ashes 
of  the  bonfire  kindled  in  honor  of  Hannah's  son; 
it  sparkled  on  the  broad  meadows,  among  the 
trees  in  the  valley,  afar  off  on  the  sails  of  a  snow- 
capped windmill ;  still  farther  off,  on  the  rumpled 
downs,  that  seemed  whiter  and  smoother  than  any 
other  part  of  the  scene  for  their  daring  proximity 
to  the  soft,  melting  blue  of  the  sky. 

But  nowhere  was  the  snow  quite  so  warm  and 
quite  so  sparkling  as  on  the  lawns  at  Slee-Marly, 
which  sloped  broadly  and  gently  to  the  wide  lake, 
over  whose  gentle  waters  Jack  Frost  had  thrown 
his  leaden  shield.  For  here  in  a  bath-chair,  at 
whose  back  stood  a  beaming,  red-faced  old  coach- 
man, sat  my  lady  Dulverton,  bending  graciously 
297 


298  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

forward,  with  her  dim,  benignant  eyes  following  in 
gentle  tolerance  the  swift,  swallow-like  flight  of 
the  skaters.  And  among  the  skaters  there  were 
two  whose  movements  she  followed  with  kindling 
interest,  Beatrice  Haddon  and  Charlie  Escott.  But 
any  spectator  would  inevitably  have  selected  these 
two  to  watch  on  that  jolly,  cheerful  morning.  For 
Beatrice  looked  exceedingly  bewitching  with  her 
cheeks  aglow,  her  dark  eyes  overflowing  with  mer- 
riment ;  and  young  Escott,  with  his  fresh,  boyish 
face,  his  clean-cut  figure,  his  laughing  eyes,  his 
ringing  voice,  seemed  the  ideal  knight  for  so  vigor- 
ous and  beautiful  a  lady. 

The  ring  of  the  skates,  the  sound  of  the  moving 
voices,  the  swift  gliding  of  the  figures  over  that 
leaden  shield  flung  from  snowfield  to  snowfield ;  the 
occasional  tumble  of  old  Sir  Thomas  March,  the 
loud  sympathy  of  Major  Parr ;  the  flying  coat-tails 
of  the  rector ;  the  efforts  of  Miss  Eversley-Hackett 
(amiable  spinster !)  to  drag  the  eye-glasses  dangling 
over  her  shoulder  back  into  their  proper  place ;  the 
loud,  boisterous  chaff  of  the  three  March  boys ;  the 
dignified  boredom  of  young  Mr.  Clarence;  the  tall, 
powerful  figure  of  Sir  Michael  sailing  past  every- 
body else;  the  pretty  faces  of  all  the  pretty  girls; 
the  dashing  gallantry  of  all  the  gallant  men;  and 
the  close — oh !  so  very  close ! — companionship  of 
young  Escott  and  the  beautiful  Beatrice, — these 
made  up  the  general  picture  on  which  Lady  Dulver- 
ton  looked  with  such  gentle  tolerance  from  her 
bath-chair,  and  which  kept  the  broad  features  of 


BREAKING  THE   ICE  299 

the  red-faced  coachman  in  a  grin  that  never  re- 
laxed. 

Round  and  round  they  flashed,  now  disappearing 
at  the  corner  where  the  rhododendron  bushes  still 
kept  their  green  leaves,  now  emerging  again  with 
flushed  faces  and  laughing  eyes;  bending  forward, 
gliding,  sailing,  swaying,  skimming,  flitting,  all  to 
the  ceaseless  music  of  the  grinding  steel ;  while  the 
robins  sang  to  them  from  the  branches,  the  chaf- 
finches flashed  above  their  heads,  and  the  sun 
smiled  from  his  sky  of  melting  blue  as  if  the  jolly 
old  gentleman  himself  had  been  a  skater  in  his 
youth. 

Now  and  then,  overflushed  and  panting,  a  couple 
would  come  skating  slowly  to  the  bank,  clamber  on 
to  the  lawn,  and  then  shuffle  as  best  they  could  to 
the  side  of  Lady  Dulverton's  bath-chair. 

"Capital,  capital !"  puffed  Sir  Thomas  March, 
leaning  on  the  edge  of  that  bath-chair  for  the  sec- 
ond time.  "Excellent  sport.  Ice  in  splendid  con- 
dition. And  what  weather !  Capital,  capital !" 

"I  hope,"  said  Lady  Dulverton,  "your  last  fall 
did  not  hurt  you." 

"Oh,  dear  me,  no !  The  merest  bump,  the  mer- 
est bump.  Something  wrong  with  my  skates. 
Nothing  the  matter  with  the  ice;  ice  couldn't  be 
better.  I  must  have  these  skates  looked  to.  Some- 
thing or  other  amiss  somewhere." 

And  then  Beatrice  would  come,  with  Escott  help- 
ing her  to  walk  over  the  snow  on  her  skates,  both 
laughing  merrily  at  their  awkwardness,  and  inquire 


300  THE   FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

whether  it  was  not  too  cold  for  Lady  Dulverton, 
and  whether  she  wasn't  tired  of  looking  on  at  their 
dreadfully  bad  skating.  And  Lady  Dulverton  would 
be  quite  sure  that  Beatrice  ought  to  go  indoors 
and  get  herself  a  glass  of  cherry  brandy  or  sloe  gin, 
and  that  Escott  would  be  only  too  pleased  to  show 
her  where  they  could  be  found.  And  Beatrice 
would  decline  the  suggestion  with  the  most  mad- 
dening of  pretty  smiles,  and  Escott  would  assert 
his  most  positive  conviction  that  she  looked  as  if 
she  wanted  cherry  brandy — or,  at  any  rate,  sloe  gin. 
Then  back  again  to  the  ice,  where  the  rector  was 
sailing  off  as  if  he  had  not  seen  anything,  and  where 
Major  Parr,  out  of  his  eyeglasses,  was  surveying 
Escott  as  if  to  say,  "I'm  rather  a  decent  fellow, 
haven't  you  noticed  it?"  where  many  a  pretty  young 
lady  was  gliding  away  with  despondency  in  her 
heart,  and  where  young  Mr.  Clarence,  with  his  chin 
on  the  top  of  his  impressive  collar,  was  looking 
as  if  he  didn't  care  a  blow  for  a  girl  who  preferred 
a  fellow  like  Escott  to  young  Mr.  Clarence.  Off 
they  went,  Beatrice  sailing  like  a  beautiful  yacht, 
Charlie  Escott  giving  chase  like  a  cruiser  confi- 
dent in  the  superior  strength  of  steam.  Now  here, 
now  there ;  now  abreast,  now  parted ;  now  sweep- 
ing out  of  sight  beyond  the  bushes,  now  disengag- 
ing hands  as  they  came  into  the  midst  of  the  skaters 
again ;  at  last  returning  from  the  very  farthest  cor- 
ner of  the  lake  to  find  all  the  party  with  skates  off, 
walking  and  chatting  beside  the  bath-chair,  pulled 
laboriously  by  the  fat  coachman  towards  the 


BREAKING  THE  ICE  301 

manor-house.  Then,  of  course,  Beatrice  had  to  sit 
on  the  lonely-looking  chair  at  the  edge  of  the  ice, 
and  Escott  had  to  kneel  down  and  undo  her  skates. 
Oh,  the  time  he  took  over  the  first  skate!  And 
yet  when  he  came  to  the  second  he  seemed  like 
a  youth  parting  from  his  mother  ere  he  sails  away 
to  seek  fortune  in  the  great  world  over  seas. 

"I  don't  think  you  quite  understand  my  skates," 
said  Beatrice  at  last ;  "please  let  me  undo  this  one 
while  you  see  to  your  own.  We  shall  never  get 
back  to  the  house  before  lunch !" 

"I  assure  you,"  said  Escott  still  looking  down, 
"that  I  understand  every  patent  skate  in  the  world." 

"Then  off  with  it !"  laughed  Beatrice. 

"I  am  thinking,"  he  answered,  still  looking  down. 

"Thinking !"  she  cried.  "But  you  mustn't  think 
now.  You  must  act." 

"Shall  I?"  he  said,  his  face  unseen. 

"Please,  please,"  she  answered. 

"But  I  may  shock  you?" 

"Not  if  you  are  quick." 

"Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  have  been  thinking?" 

"Yes,  if  you  promise  to  be  quick  in  taking  off 
my  skate,"  she  answered,  wondering  why  he  would 
so  persistently  keep  his  head  bent. 

"I  have  been  thinking,"  he  said,  "that  it  is  per- 
fectly ridiculous  for  me — with  so  few  opportunities 
of  kneeling  before  you — to  get  up  off  my  knees  till 
I  have " 

"Lunch  is  ready !"  came  the  loud  voice  of  Major 
Parr,  ten  yards  away. 


302  THE   FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

"Damn !"  said  Escott  under  his  breath. 

"Just  when  he  was  going  to  lift  his  face !"  sighed 
Beatrice. 

And  then  they  walked  with  that  confounded 
Major  Parr  to  the  house ;  and  Major  Parr  would 
persist  in  the  assertion  that  he  had  seen  Escott  in 
one  of  the  clubs.  Was  it  the  "Rag"  ?  Perhaps,  the 
"Junior"?  Perhaps,  the  "Naval  and  Military"? 
Capital  club  the  "Rag."  Should  very  much  like 
Escott  to  lunch  with  him  there  one  day.  Very 
good  old  cognac,  sixty  years  old;  best  in  Lon- 
don. 

Damn  Major  Parr. 

At  lunch  Escott  felt  himself  a  perfect  fool.  Hav- 
ing got  on  so  famously  while  he  knelt  at  the 
feet  of  Beatrice,  and  having  half  told  the  dear  girl 
that  he  loved  her  (Oh,  damn,  damn  Major  Parr!), 
he  dare  not  now — while  people  were  talking 
about  game  pies  and  venison  and  jugged  hare, 
and  somebody  was  asking  for  pickles,  and  one  of 
the  young  March  boys  was  spluttering  with  his 
mouth  full  of  mustard — he  dare  not,  I  say,  utter 
a  word  to  her,  look  into  her  eyes  for  a  fleeting 
moment.  So  to  cover  his  confusion,  and  like  a 
sensible  young  Anglo-Saxon,  he  ate  turkey  with  a 
hunter's  appetite,  and  drank  punch  with  the  gusto 
of  three  jolly  postboys  drinking  at  the  "Dragon." 
He  talked  to  Sir  Thomas  March  about  the  shameful 
socialism  of  the  Conservative  Government,  he  dis- 
cussed Jane  Austen  with  Miss  Eversley-Hackett, 
he  asked  young  Mr.  Clarence  what  he  thought  of 


BREAKING  THE   ICE  303 

the  weather  prospects,  and  agreed  with  the  rector 
that  Kensit  ought  to  have  his  head  punched.  He 
looked  many  times  towards  Lady  Dulverton ;  hoped 
and  hoped  that  she  had  not  taken  cold ;  told  Dul- 
verton that  the  punch  was  the  best  in  the  world; 
and — yes,  even  chopped  clubs  with  Major  Parr, 
and  looked  with  quite  a  Christian  smile  straight 
through  the  O  of  that  gleaming  monocle  to  the 
good  Major's  big  threatening  brown  eye. 

After  lunch  he  was  the  first  to  load  his  pipe  on 
the  white  snow,  the  first  to  agree  that  there  should 
be  no  more  skating  that  day,  the  first  to  second  Sir 
Michael's  suggestion  that  a  game  of  billiards  would 
be  excellent  good  fun.  You  never  saw  a  man  so 
anxious  to  appear  brisk  and  cheerful,  so  determined 
to  make  inamorata  see  that  he  was  no  blushing 
schoolboy.  And  yet  the  dear  fellow  would  never, 
even  under  cover  of  his  eyelashes  and  from  the  cor- 
ner of  his  eyes,  steal  the  most  fugitive  glance  at 
Beatrice.  So  he  went  on,  laughing,  chatting,  polite 
and  breezy,  merry  and  thoughtful,  now  running  an 
errand  for  Lady  Dulverton,  now  helping  a  depart- 
ing guest  to  struggle  into  jacket  or  identify  skates ; 
now  appearing  in  the  billiard-room  to  smoke  half 
a  cigarette  and  watch  old  Sir  Thomas  (compress- 
ing great  abdominal  superfluity  in  the  most  reck- 
less fashion  against  the  edge  of  the  table)  make 
an  extraordinarily  lucky  cannon  to  the  happy  es- 
cape of  the  cloth ;  now  returning  to  Lady  Dulver- 
ton's  elbow  in  the  drawing-room,  now  singing  a 
song,  now  overcoming  the  shyness  of  one  of  the 


304  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

pretty  girls  to  play  that*  jolly  little  funeral  march  of 
the  marionette,  now  helping  to  pass  hot  scones  and 
cups  of  tea  to  the  merry  chatterers,  and  now — now 
subsiding  like  a  spent  runner  into  a  chair  beside 
the  silent,  solemn  Beatrice. 

Dear  reader,  if  small  talk  is  a  torture  to  your 
ears,  if  you  have  a  passion  for  neat  epigram  and 
brilliant  paradox,  let  us  stop  our  ears  and  get 
into  the  far,  far  corner  of  the  drawing-room  while 
Lord  Escott  converses  over  his  teacup  with  the 
lovely  Miss  Haddon. 

Or,  let  us  rather  take  wing  and  fly  far  away  from 
this  happy  scene  for  a  brief  moment,  to  look  over 
the  shoulder  of  Mrs.  Whittle,  sitting  gloomy  in 
her  dark  chamber  reading  a  letter  from  Lord  Es- 
cott's  erstwhile  friend,  the  financially  perplexed 
Olley  Bolt. 

"He  wants  more  money,"  said  the  lady  to  her- 
self, "more  money,  and  he  must  have  it.  And  I  am 
to  wait  his  time  for  revenge.  I  am  to  be  petted 
by  this  she-devil,  and  made  to  admire  the  brat  that 
makes  my  work  more  and  more  difficult.  I  am  to 
smile  because  she  smiles;  I  am  to  forget  all  my 
wrongs,  all  her  insults;  and  I  am  to  wait.  The 
time  to  strike  has  not  yet  come.  But  it  will  come. 
He  has  thought  it  out.  He  will  strike  such  a  blow 
at  her  as  will  humble  her  to  the  dust,  and  leave 
me  sole  mistress  of  the  castle.  Will  he?  will  he? 
And  in  the  meantime  money — he  must  have 
money." 

She  rose  and  stood  by  the  window.    "Ah !"  she 


REARING   THE   ICE  305 

cried,  with  set  teeth,  "there's  the  old  mother  who 
has  guessed  my  secret,  and  the  half-idiot  heir  to 
the  title !  But  for  that  old  woman  the  boy  would 
pine  as  he  did  in  the  Bladen  woman's  time — before 
this  she-devil  came  into  the  castle  to  bring  ruin 
and  disaster.  Why  can't  they  let  the  miserable 
dwarf  die  ?  The  other  I  can  deal  with.  Yes,  though 
he  tells  me  to  wait,  wait,  wait.  I  will,  I  will!  I'll 
strangle  it,  crush  it,  poison  it,  steal  it,  drown  it." 
She  turned  back  from  the  window,  her  face  livid, 
her  eyes  black  with  smouldering  murder. 

Away,  away !  While  there  is  laughter  and  merri- 
ment in  Slee-Marly  why  stand  in  the  gloom  with 
this  miserable  wretch,  dreaming  of  slaughter,  feed- 
ing her  starved  soul  on  vengeance.  And  yet,  ere 
we  go,  while  we  are  still  in  the  castle,  let  us  peep 
into  the  room  where  Lady  Mane  sits  over  the  fire 
with  her  child  asleep  on  her  breast.  She  looks  as 
Iseult  of  Brittany  may  have  looked  when  the  sleet 
whipt  the  pane,  and  Tristram  lay  a-dying,  dream- 
ing of  "that  other  Iseult  fair,"  Iseult  of  Ireland. 
Her  cheeks  are  sunken  and  pale,  she  gazes  list- 
lessly in  the  fire.  Like  Tristram — 

There's  a  secret  in  her  breast 
Which  will  never  let  her  rest. 

And  as  she  sits  there,  pale  and  listless,  one  can  see 
that  inwardly  there  is  some  burning  thought  con- 
suming like  a  hot  flame  all  the  mind's  healthy 
activity. 

Presently  she  rises,  and  like  Mrs.  Whittle,  goes 


306  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

slowly  to  the  window.  As  she  reaches  the  wide 
panes,  suddenly  she  nestles  the  child  closer  to  her 
breast,  and  a  quick  animation  darts  into  her  listless 
eyes.  Hatred  of  the  most  terrible  kind  slowly 
and  sullenly  overspreads  her  whole  countenance. 
Very  slowly,  very  sullenly.  There  is  nothing"  of 
the  housekeeper's  quick,  furious,  almost  hydro- 
phobic  hate  in  the  deadly  calm  face  of  Lady  Mane. 
There,  sullenly  and  silently,  looms,  as  thunder 
looms  from  a  storm-cloud,  implacability  of  a  kind 
that  must  have  burned  its  hell  fires  in  the  eyes  of 
-Lady  Macbeth  when  she  muttered — 

^'That  which  hath  made  them  drunk  hath  made  me  bold ; 
What  hath  quench'd  them  hath  given  me  fire." 

With  the  child  at  her  breast,  the  bright  flames  of 
the  fire  flinging  quick  darting  red  shadows  about 
her  tall  somber  figure,  shining  now  in  her  loosely 
coiled  hair,  burning  for  a  moment  against  the  dark 
warm  skin  of  her  throat — she  stands  at  the  window 
staring  over  the  snow-covered  gardens  where  her 
mother  and  her  stepson  are  walking  briskly  towards 
the  castle. 

But  it  is  growing  late,  growing  dark.  The  rec- 
tor's pony-carriage  has  already  creaked  and  bumped 
over  the  cobbles  in  the  rectory  stables  (for  the 
rector  had  a  sermon  to  write,  and  Lady  Dulverton 
had  promised  that  someone  should  look  after  Beat- 
rice); and  Major  Parr  has  given  Escott  his  card, 
and  noted  on  the  back  of  an  envelope  the  day  on 
which  Escott  is  to  try  that  excellent  old  brandy 


BREAKING   THE   ICE  307 

4t  the  "Rag" ;  and  Sir  Thomas  March,  in  a  great 
fur-lined  coat,  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  has  sub- 
sided into  the  most  comfortable  seat  on  the  phae- 
ton, and  entrusted  his  life  to  the  driving  of  the 
boisterous  boy,  whose  mouth  is  still  cockled  with 
mustard ;  and  Miss  Eversley-Hackett,  with  her  eye- 
glasses safely  on  her  nose,  and  under  the  wing  of 
young  Mr.  Clarence,  who  looks  as  bored  as  a  very 
old  toad  surveying  the  world  from  a  very  flat  stone, 
has  skipped  quite  friskily  down  the  drive ;  and  the 
pretty  girls  in  smart  dogcarts,  on  smart  bicycles,  or 
on  their  own  very  smart  little  feet,  are  all  laughing 
and  chatting  through  the  soft  twilight  of  Slee-Marly 
drive,  while  the  jingle  of  their  skates  hanging  over 
their  arms  rings  musically  on  the  still  crisp  evening 
air. 

And  presently  from  the  house  comes  Beatrice, 
.with  a  thick  brown  fur  (looking  as  cosy  as  a  cat  on  a 
hearthrug)  pressed  all  round  her  dear  little  throat, 
and  even  touching  the  sweet  rounded  cheek  that 
rivals  its  own  warm  softness.  And  after  her,  with 
no  overcoat  to  smother  the  straight  clean-cut  lines 
of  his  youthful  figure,  but  with  his  Norfolk  jacket 
tight-buttoned,  white  woollen  gloves  on  his  hands, 
and  (alas  for  modern  romance!)  a  pipe  in  his 
mouth,  comes  my  Lord  Escott,  shouting  back  to 
Dulverton  at  the  door  that  it  is  a  ripping  night, 
that  the  ice  should  be  excellent  going  to-morrow. 

The  door  shuts  with  a  good  wholesome  reverber- 
ating bang ;  the  voices  ahead  have  died  softly  away, 
and  these  two  are  alone  with  the  night. 


308  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

There  is  only  the  sound  of  their  feet  grinding 
the  firm  snow,  the  jingle  of  her  skates,  hanging 
over  the  arm  of  iron  inside  the  sleeve  of  that  Nor- 
folk jacket. 

The  bang  of  the  manor-house  door  seems  to 
have  impressed  both  man  and  woman  that  they  are 
alone — perhaps,  that  they  are  purposely  alone.  The 
man  begins  to  think  that  his  pipe  is  something  in 
the  nature  of  a  solecism,  and  he  takes  it  out  of 
his  mouth;  but  the  tobacco  is  exceeding  fragrant, 
and  he  holds  the  warm  bowl  in  his  woollen-covered 
hand  till  the  mood  shall  pass. 

The  woman  thinks  that  she  ought  to  say  some- 
thing, and  remarks  in  a  perfectly  unnatural  voice — 
really  a  quite  ridiculously  unnatural  voice — that  it 
is  ever  such  a  nice  night. 

He  makes  answer  with  some  incoherent  refer- 
ence to  the  stars,  then  coughs  as  if  the  remark  had 
choked  him,  and  declares  that  he  feels  as  if  he 
could  walk  fifty  miles  on  such  a  night. 

She  asks  him  if  he  has  ever  been  in  a  midnight 
bicycle-party.  Her  voice  is  very  nearly  itself  again. 

Yes,  he  has ;  years  ago,  when  he  was  at  Oxford. 
Ah!  dear  heart,  what  a  weary  long  time  ago  it 
seems ! 

The  pipe  is  back  in  his  mouth.  He  pulls  desper " 
ately,  till  the  sullen  embers  glow  again. 

Ahead  of  them  shines  the  jed-curtained  window 
of  the  "Cripple's  Ease."  The  walk  is  nearly  over. 
The  rectory  gate  is  but  a  few  paces  beyond  that 
warm  red  light. 


BREAKING  THE   ICE  309 

He  takes  the  pipe  out  of  his  mouth.  "I  don't 
think  I  ever  quite  disliked  a  man  so  much  as  I  did 
Major  Parr  this  morning !"  he  says  desperately. 

Back  goes  the  pipe  again  quickly,  at  express 
speed. 

"Did  he  bore  you  very  much  with  his  club  chat- 
ter?" she  asks  gently. 

"I  mean  when  he  interrupted  me  in  undoing  your 
skates." 

Tinkle-tinkle!  cry  the  skates,  chuckling  to  them- 
selves. 

Beatrice  is  very  silent. 

Tinkle-tinkle!  cry  the  skates,  as  if  to  say:  "Go 
ahead,  go  ahead!  don't  waste  time;  we're  all  im- 
patience to  hear." 

"I  wish  I  was  on  my  knees  again !"  Escott  jerks 
out,  breathing  very  hard. 

Was  ever  silence  deeper  and  more  obstinate  than 
that  maintained  by  the  beautiful  Beatrice? 

"I  want  to  say  something,  and  somehow  it  seems 
I  can't  say  it  on  my  feet,  walking  along,"  he  cries 
boldly,  helplessly,  grasping  the  bowl  of  his  pipe  till 
the  heat  penetrates  the  woollen  gloves  and  burns 
his  hand. 

And  now  a  great  hunger  to  possess  the  girl  at 
his  side,  to  break  down  with  one  giant  blow  and  a 
great  splintering  sound,  the  thin  partition  that 
keeps  them  apart,  enters  the  lover's  beating  heart 
and  drives  all  cowardly  nervousness  before  it  with 
its  mighty  inrush. 


310  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

"Stop !"  he  said,  coming  to  a  shadowed  gateway. 
"Don't  walk  till  I've  told  you!" 

Tinkle-tinkle!  chuckle  the  skates;  the  young 
master  means  business  this  time !  If  he  will  let  us, 
we  will  be  still  and  listen. 

She  stops,  as  though  half  inclined  to  disobey 
him.  But  she  looks  into  his  eyes. 

"You  guess?"  says  he,  bending  close  to  her, 
speaking  very  softly,  and  oh !  so  very  tenderly. 

She  smiles,  and  looks  slowly,  dreamfully  away. 

Tinkle-tinkle!  tinkle-tinkle!  tinkle-tinkle!  cry 
the  clattering,  jangling  skates.  Such  a  noise  they 
make  that  old  Timothy,  standing  in  the  door  of  the 
"Cripple's  Ease,"  steps  out  into  the  open,  shades 
his  eyes  with  his  hand  to  protect  them  from  the 
moonlight,  and  peers  into  the  lane. 

Could  his  eyes  but  pierce  a  little  farther,  and  see 
into  the  shadow  of  the  gateway  where  they  stand, 
he  would  know  why  steel  is  jingling  and  clashing 
there  like  the  swords  of  duelists. 

For  the  skates  made  all  that  tremendous  din 
just  when  Beatrice  smiled  and  turned  away,  because 
Lord  Escott,  not  having  the  power  to  put  his  feel- 
ings into  words,  said  nothing  at  all,  but  simply 
gathered  her  into  his  arms  and  whispered  in  love's 
language  (the  most  musical  tongue  under  heaven!) 
his  secret  to  her  lips. 


XXIII 

THE  WHISPER  OF  HELL 

THE  christening  of  Lady  Mane's  baby  did  not 
thrill  the  neighborhood  until  spring  was  busy 
with  the  iris  of  the  dove  and  the  feelings  of  the 
young  man.  There  were  two  reasons  for  delay. 
The  countess,  in  the  first  place,  was  many  weeks  re- 
gaining her  health  and  good  spirits;  in  the  second 
place,  the  flower  of  the  aristocracy  could  not  be 
drawn  into  the  castle  at  short  notice.  Hannah  was 
determined  that  her  child  should  receive  his  names 
and  his  admission  into  the  Anglican  Communion 
with  such  a  ringing  of  society  bells,  such  a  waving 
of  society  banners,  such  a  shouting,  such  a  clapping, 
such  a  "damned  unnecessary  hosannah" — as  my  lord 
expressed  it — as  should  for  all  time  settle  her  place 
in  the  aristocracy  of  Great  Britain. 

So,  on  the  flagged  walks  in  the  gardens,  where 
Mrs.  Bobby  had  blown  scented  tobacco  to  the  stars, 
where  Olley  Bolt  had  uttered  epigrams  and  paradox, 
and  Mrs.  Blazer  had  oft  given  to  the  world  a  liberal 
view  of  her  ankles,  walked  at  last  those  really  great 
ones  whose  names  are  seldom  polluted  by  appear- 
ance in  the  Society  Gossip  of  fashionable  journals. 
There  was,  for  instance,  the  beautiful  flaxen-haired 
Duchess  of  Cronberry,  with  her  daughter,  Lady 

3" 


312  THE   FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

Victoria;  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Mottingham, 
Lord  and  Lady  Pewsey ;  the  white-haired  Marquess 
of  Menhinnit,  with  the  charming  young  march- 
ioness ;  the  Bishop  of  Horton  and  Mrs.  Davis ;  Col- 
onel Shenton,  of  the  Guards;  Mr.  and  Lady  Ellen 
Kinnersley;  little  black-eyed  Lady  Allan  Jesmond; 
Mr.  Edward  St.  Austell,  M.  P. ;  and  Lady  Susan 
Wilkinson.  The  Duchess  of  Mottingham  was  to  be 
the  babe's  godmother,  and  the  old  Marquess  of  Men- 
hinnit, with  Lord  Pewsey  to  share  the  labor,  was  to 
be  the  infant's  godfather.  Truly  a  splendid  com- 
pany !  Coming  out  from  the  wings  into  their  midst, 
Hannah  was  almost  blinded  by  the  dazzling  glory 
of  the  scene,  but,  to  do  her  justice,  let  us  declare  at 
once,  without  modification  of  any  kind,  that  her  love 
for  the  child  was  greater  than  the  satisfaction  she 
felt  at  finding  herself  in  such  a  noble  company. 

And,  good  reader,  who  of  us  would  not  have  felt 
some  delight  at  moving  in  such  society  ?  Trust  me, 
not  the  author  who  cries  "Vanity!  vanity!" — who 
flings  his  scorn  on  the  Briton's  snobbishness,  who 
professes  a  fine  independence  of  his  betters.  He, 
least  of  all.  Your  downright  cynic  is  the  worst  snob 
on  the  stage ;  and  though  his  attitude  before  a  lord 
be  more  pleasing  than  that  of  the  bowing,  scraping, 
boot-blacking  vulgarian — believe  me,  in  his  heart 
he  feels  as  much  pleasure  in  that  acquaintance  as 
the  other,  and  that  he  will  introduce  the  fine  name 
in  conversation  with  his  friends  quite  as  deliberately 
as  honest  old  boot-blacking  snob. 

Hannah  loved  these  people.    She  loved  them  for 


THE   WHISPER   OF  HELL  313 

their  Olympian  calm,  their  soft  voices,  their  gra- 
cious ways.     She  loved  to  sit  still  and  hear  them 
talk.     She  loved  to  sit  still  and  watch  them  move 
about.     She  was  like  the  stone  in  the  brook,  over 
which  the  cool  rippling  water  streams — part  of  the 
scene,  but  not  the  smallest  of  those  musical  ripples. 
She  knew  that  by  their  training,  by  their  environ- 
ment, by  their  tradition,  these  stately  people  were  as 
different  from  her  as  one  nation  from  another.    It 
seemed  to  her  that  their  thoughts  must  be  always 
pure,  that  their  acts  must  be  always  kind,  that  their 
manner  must  be  always  what  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold 
loved  (and  possessed  himself),  "the  grand."     She 
could  not  conceive  of  the  beautiful  Duchess  of  Cron- 
berry  in  a  temper  with  her  maid,  of  the  Duke  of 
Mottingham  ever  being  in  a  hurry  or  snoring  in 
his  sleep,  of  Colonel  Shenton  looking  at  or  address- 
ing the  least  of  women  save  with  the  courtesy  of  a 
Bayard,  nor  of  the  good  bishop  ever  shivering  with 
a  bath-towel  sawing  his  plump  old  back.     No;  to 
her  it  appeared  that  these  people  never  put  off  their 
grand  manner  any  more  than  an  angel  puts  off  his 
wings.    And  as  the  angels  would  have  calmed  her 
mind,  so  she  experienced  in  the  society  of  her  guests 
a  dreamful  peace,  which  flowed  over  her  mind  and 
swept  away,  for  the  nonce,  all  the  turbulent  evil  of 
her  leopard  nature. 

And  the  castle  at  this  season,  how  glorious,  how 
fitting!  The  Red  Cross  of  St.  George,  crinkling  in 
the  breeze,  fluttered  above  the  historic  pile  as  though 
it  knew,  and  wished  all  the  world  to  know,  that 


314  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

something  weighty  was  proceeding  in  connection 
with  the  family.  The  tender  green  on  the  trees  and 
in  the  hedges,  the  "reviving  herb"  on  smooth  lawns 
and  far-fl  ng  meadows — every  leaf  of  it,  every 
blade  of  it  <emed  purposely  donned  for  the  occasion. 
And  there  in  hedgerow  and  dim  deep  greenwood 
swarmed  snowdrops,  violets,  and  primroses — all  so 
clean,  so  bright,  so  sweet;  while  Criddle,  stalking 
about  the  Edenic  gardens,  with  his  knees  going  on 
before  like  buffers  of  a  steam  engine,  smiled  benig- 
nantly  upon  tulip,  daffodil,  hyacinth,  and  crocus,  and 
thought  of  naming  his  next  new  rose  after  the  baby 
sleeping  with  little  clenched  fists  in  the  great  ivory 
cradle  of  the  Kyns. 

It  is  not  the  author's  purpose  to  bore  the  reader 
with  an  account  of  the  christening,  a  ceremony  per- 
formed by  the  bishop  with  great  dignity,  nor  to  re- 
late how  Hannah's  guests  talked  at  dinner,  how  they 
drove  hither  and  thither,  how  they  moved  about  the 
beautiful  gardens,  and  how  they  finally  took  their 
departure.  We  have  mentioned  their  names  merely 
to  impress  upon  the  reader's  mind,  what  it  is  most 
important  he  should  not  forget,  that  Hannah  now 
occupied  a  certain  position  in  the  Old  Guard  of  the 
aristocracy,  and  that  she  found  there  a  rest  for  her 
soul  which  "the  late  lamented"  never  knew  and 
never  desired.  Having  said  this,  and  begging  the 
reader  to  bear  it  in  mind,  we  proceed  to  follow  our 
story  at  a  point  some  six  weeks  after  the  guests  had 
departed. 

One  afternoon  Lord  Mane  was  walking  over  the 


THE   WHISPER   OF  HELL  3T5 

meadows,  squinting  with  gratified  eyes,  his  head 
thrust  forward,  at  the  cattle  lying  about  in  great 
peace  and  contentment,  when  little  Kyn  came  for- 
ward to  meet  him. 

"Have  you  lost  this,  papa?"  said  the  child,  hold- 
ing up  an  odd-shaped  key. 

The  earl  put  his  fingers  into  his  waistcoat  pocket, 
where  he  kept  his  gold  toothpick,  while  with  the 
other  he  snatched  the  key  from  Kyn's  extended 
hand.  "Where  did  you  find  it?"  he  said. 

"In  the  wood  there." 

"Why,  Kyn,  it's  the  key  to  Kyn's  Way !  I  must 
have  dropped  it  pullin'  out  my  toothpick.  But  what 
were  you  doin'  in  the  wood  ?" 

"Nothing,"  said  the  child,  wearily. 

The  earl  stooped  down,  and  brought  his  narrow, 
blinking  face  on  a  level  with  that  of  his  frail,  stunted 
child.  "Ain't  you  well,  Kyn?"  he  said.  "Why  do 
you  go  mopin'  about  in  the  woods  and  trees  ?  You 
ain't  still  lookin'  for  fairies,  are  you?" 

The  boy  lowered  his  gaze.  "There  aren't  such 
things,"  he  said,  with  as  much  pain,  perhaps,  as  a 
man  may  suffer  deceived  by  the  woman  he  has  loved. 

"Of  course  there  ain't.  But  why  do  you  go 
creepin'  and  mopin'  about  in  the  woods  ?" 

After  a  pause  the  child  said :    "To  forget  it." 

"Forget  there  ain't  fairies?"  queried  the  father 
with  a  hoarse  chuckle. 

"No,  to  forget  my  head.    It  hurts." 

"Where  does  it  hurt,  Kyn?" 


316  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

The  boy  placed  his  hand  on  the  top  of  his  cap. 
"It  shoots  and  burns  there." 

Something  like  tears  came  into  Lord  Mane's  eyes. 
"Poor  little  devil !"  he  exclaimed.  "You're  like  me, 
Kyn,  you're  like  me.  I'll  bet  a  guinea  you  haven't 
told  your  mother  or  Mrs.  Mersey  that  you've  got  a 
pain.  Have  you,  now  ?" 

"No,"  the  boy  answered,  walking  beside  his  father 
to  the  house. 

"You're  like  me,  Kyn.  All  of  us  are  more  like 
animals  than  the  rest  of  the  world.  Your  uncle  was 
the  same,  my  grandfather  was  the  same,  and  my 
father  was  the  only  one  of  the  old  buck's  seven 
son's  who  wasn't.  We  go  and  sneak  away  when 
;we've  got  a  pain  or  a  trouble,  don't  we,  eh?  We 
think  we  don't  want  any  fussin'  and  coddlin'.  We 
think  we  don't  want  sympathy.  But  we  do,  Kyn, 
and  you'll  have  to  tell  Mrs.  Mersey  about  your  head- 
ache, an'  she'll  take  it  away.  An',"  he  continued, 
as  Hannah  joined  them,  "you  found  the  key  to  Kyn's 
Way.  That's  funny,  now.  I've  never  lost  that  key 
in  my  life,  an'  it's  the  only  one  of  its  kind  in  the 
world.  When  your  headache's  gone,  an'  you're 
grown  a  big  man,  I'll  show  you  Kyn's  Way,  an* 
you  shall  have  this  key  when  I'm  dead  and  buried." 
He  turned  with  a  grin  to  Hannah.  "Kyn  found  my 
key  to  Kyn's  Way!  Think  of  that.  It  goes  from 
father  to  son,  an'  the  boy's  the  first  I've  heard  of 
who  ever  took  it  for  himself." 

He  said  a  few  words  about  the  child's  headache, 
and  went  off  in  the  direction  of  the  farm.  Hannah 


THE   WHISPER   OF  HELL  317 

took  Kyn's  hand,  and  led  him  away  to  the  house. 
Arrived  in  her  room  she  rang  the  bell  and  ordered 
that  a  groom  should  be  sent  to  Doctor  Reed,  asking 
him  to  drive  out  to  the  castle  at  his  earliest  conven- 
ience. Then  she  sat  down  and  drew  the  child  to 
her  knee. 

"When  did  your  headaches  begin?"  she  said. 

"I've  always  had  them,  only  they've  been  bad 
lately,  so  bad  sometimes  they  make  me  cry." 

She  passed  her  hands  lightly  over  his  body.  "You 
are  very  thin,"  she  said,  and  then,  leaning  back  in 
her  chair,  she  surveyed  him  critically. 

The  boy  was  not  lovely  to  look  at.  The  white, 
drawn  face,  the  dull,  vacant,  spiritless  eyes,  the 
mouth  ever  agape,  the  lank  red  hair — these  could 
only  inspire  dislike  with  the  ordinary  being,  could 
only  be  forgotten  by  such  honest  hearts  as  Mrs. 
Mersey.  The  boy  had  the  habit,  too,  of  looking  in 
any  direction  but  the  eyes  of  those  who  spoke  to 
him — a  habit  that  never  impresses  one  favorably  in 
man,  child,  or  dog.  His  whole  attitude  was  one  of 
slackness — physical  and  mental.  One  looked  at  him, 
and  instinctively  straightened  one's  own  back  and 
squared  one's  own  shoulders.  .Then  his  voice  was 
tired,  and  sometimes  it  sounded  as  if  the  child  in- 
tended to  speak  indifferently,  almost  contemptu- 
ously. 

Hannah  looked  at  him,  measured  him  with  her 
serious  dark  eyes,  and  hardened  her  heart.  This, 
then,  was  the  future  Earl  of  Mane!  This  stunted, 
shrunken  limb  of  the  ancient  tree  was  to  become 


3*8  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

the  principal  bough,  and  lord  it  over  that  stalwart 
branch  sleeping  peacefully  in  his  cot  upstairs !  It 
was  into  his  hands,  those  poor  nerveless  hands,  that 
the  key  of  Kyn's  Way  was  to  be  given.  Omen  of 
evil !  he  had  found  that  key  and  restored  it  to  his 
father.  Some  day  he  would  possess  it,  and  the  great 
castle  itself ;  and  he  would  bring  his  wife  there,  and 
Hannah  and  her  child  would  be  turned  away.  No, 
•no !  He  was  a  dying  child.  The  doctor  would  come 
and  tell  her  that  he  could  not  live  to  manhood.  Sir 
Michael  had  once  said  so;  Sir  Michael  thought  he 
would  never  reach  manhood.  Bah!  what  folly  to 
distress  her  mind  with  fears  of  the  future.  That 
sturdy  son  of  hers  would  grow  strong  and  beautiful ; 
he  would,  perhaps,  be  tall  and  straight,  like  Dul- 
verton,  and  he  would  be  her  knight  in  the  world. 

Hannah  was  pouring  out  tea  in  the  drawing-room 
with  Mrs.  Mersey  and  Kyn  on  the  sofa  when  Doc- 
tor Reed  was  announced.  He  was  shown  into  the 
room,  and  immediately  acquainted  with  the  cause 
of  his  summons. 

"You  will  have  some  tea?"  said  Hannah,  in  her 
sweet,  gracious  voice ;  "and  then  if  you  will  examine 
Lord  Kyn  I  shall  be  grateful.  It  is  too  terrible  to 
think  of  the  poor  little  fellow  suffering  such  pain 
through  his  boyhood." 

And  while  the  doctor  drank  tea  and  ate  bread  and 
butter,  Hannah  displayed  such  a  beautiful  solicitude 
for  her  stepson's  welfare,  and  spoke  so  confidently 
of  her  own  plump  babe,  that  the  good  doctor  was 
moved  to  admiration  for  this  charming,  modest 


THE   WHISPER  OF  HELL  319 

creature,  and  felt,  as  everybody  in  the  neighbor- 
hood felt,  that  the  new  countess  was  really  a  very 
noble  woman. 

After  the  examination  he  saw  Hannah,  by  her 
request,  privately. 

"Tell  me  the  worst,"  she  said  quietly.  "I  am  pre- 
pared for  it." 

"It  is  a  very  bad  worst,"  said  the  doctor,  with  a 
sigh. 

A  great  load  lifted  from  Hannah's  mind.  "He 
will  not  live  long  ?"  she  asked  in  a  voice  that  seemed 
to  struggle  with  tears. 

"He  may  live  for  many  years.  He  may  live  as 
long  as  his  father." 

Hannah's  eyes  hardened,  and  she  lowered  them 
quickly. 

"You  can  guess  what  I  mean?"  he  said,  with 
great  sympathy. 

"Tell  me!"  she  said,  wondering  what  he  had  to 
say. 

"I  fear  for  his  mind.  His  body,  I  think,  will 
grow  strong,  but  his  brain  is  doomed." 

"He  will  go  mad?"  cried  Hannah,  looking  up, 
apparently  distracted  by  the  intelligence. 

"No,  I  do  not  say  that.  But  he  will  always  be 
weak-minded,  perhaps  very  weak-minded.  I  should 
recommend  you  to  see  a  brain  specialist  imme- 
diately, though  I  fear  nothing  can  be  done  for  the 
poor  child." 

Hannah  stood  before  the  doctor  with  bowed  head, 
as  though  stricken  by  grief.  "Tell  me,"  she  said, 


320  THE   FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

"your  own  opinion.  You  do  not  think  it  will  ever 
be  necessary  to — to  place  him " 

He  hastened  to  help  her  in  her  sorrow.  "Your 
ladyship,  I  feel  hopeful,  need  have  no  fear  of  that. 
What  will  happen,  I  think,  is  a  gradual,  perhaps  a 
very  gradual,  weakening  of  the  brain.  He  may  be 
fit  to  enter  society  for  some  years,  but  he  will  never 
be  able  to  use  his  brain  to  any  great  extent.  All 
lessons,  for  instance,  should  be  discontinued." 

For  some  minutes  Hannah  remained  silent.  "But 
if  his  body  grows  stronger  is  there  no  hope  that  his 
brain,  too,  may  increase  in  vigor?"  She  raised  her 
eyes  and  regarded  him  calmly. 

"That  is  possible,  but  only  possible." 

"Would  you  give  him  any  medicine  ?"  she  asked. 

He  half  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  will  send  you 
a  tonic.  In  the  meantime  let  him  do  no  work,  let 
him  spend  all  his  time  out  of  doors,  and — if  you  will 
allow  me — I  will  telegraph  to  a  brain  specialist  on 
my  way  home." 

She  thanked  him,  begged  him  to  do  so,  and  the 
interview  came  to  a  close. 

A  few  days  afterwards  the  specialist  arrived,  and 
to  the  earl  and  Hannah  he  told  the  same  tale  as 
Doctor  Reed  had  already  told  the  stepmother.  There 
was  hope,  a  bare  hope.  In  the  meantime  let  the  boy 
be  much  in  the  open,  do  no  lessons  whatsoever,  and 
— yes,  by  all  means — let  him  have  the  tonic.  That 
was  all.  The  wheels  of  the  carriage  rolled  away, 
little  Kyn  ran  to  find  Mrs.  Mersey,  and  the  earl, 
going  out  of  the  room  with  bent  head,  left  Hannah 
alone  with  herself. 


THE   WHISPER   OF  HELL  321 

Oh !  the  thoughts  that  writhed  and  twisted  like  so 
many  serpents  in  the  mind  of  Hannah !  Dare  we 
peer  into  that  hell-pit  ?  Dare  we  fix  our  eyes — eyes 
that  love  sunny  fields,  sparkling  rivers,  and  a  world 
flecked  with  bright  flowers — dare  we  fix  them,  I  ask, 
on  that  seething  thought-center  where,  like  the  pit 
of  Tophet,  evil  shapes  loom  in  the  blackness  crawl- 
ing over  each  other,  writhing,  twisting  serpents  of 
evil,  the  spawn  of  hell? — 

"Comme  dans  les  etangs  assoupis  sous  les  bois 
Dans  plus  d'une  ame  on  voit  deux  choses  a  la  fois: 
Le  ciel,  qui  teint  les  eaux  a  peine  remuees 
Avec  tous  ses  rayons  et  toutes  ses  nuees; 
Et  la  vase,  fond  morne,  affreux,  sombre  et  dormant, 
Ou  des  reptiles  noirs  fourmillent  vaguement." 

In  every  mind  sleep  these  hideous  shapes  of  evil, 
and  even  in  the  pure  mind,  where  they  find  little 
sustenance,  they  do  sometimes  wake  and  buffet  the 
soul  sorely.  Go  to  the  sick  bed  of  saint — delicate 
woman  or  man  of  God — and  there  you  shall  hear  in 
the  dread  hour  of  delirium  words  to  blanch  your 
cheek  and  shake  reason  on  its  throne.  They  are 
there,  these  evil  shapes,  in  every  mind;  and  once 
wake  them,  once  bid  them  commune  with  you,  and 
— unless  God  save  you — they  will  rise  from  that 
slumber,  rise  from  that  dreadful  inertia,  and  never 
go  out  from  you  till  they  have  stripped  bare  your 
soul,  leaving  you  as  naked  as  the  beasts  of  the  field. 
The  youth  looks  at  venerable  age,  and  says,  "I  will 
sow  to  the  devil  and  get  rid  of  this  seed :  when  my 
hair  is  white  I  shall  be  like  yonder  patriarch,  the 


322  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

evil  fires  burned  out,  and  peace  in  my  soul."  But 
could  youth  look  into  the  patriarch's  hidden  soul, 
how  he  would  shrink  back  from  the  abomination  of 
desolation  there !  For  the  time  does  come  when  even 
the  shining  serpents  of  sin  crawl  from  the  mind  of 
man,  leaving  him  only  the  husks  of  his  soul.  For, 
as  the  cynic  has  said,  "Unto  each  man  comes  a  day 
when  his  favorite  sins  all  forsake  him,  and  he  com- 
placently thinks  he  has  forsaken  his  sins." 

In  every  mind  sleep  murder,  lust,  hatred,  and 
cruelty;  and  the  awakening  of  these  hell-spirits  is 
more  frightful  and  appalling  when  he  who  harbors 
them  has  had  all  opportunities  of  good.  Murder 
waking  in  the  mind  of  a  savage  is  a  wild,  dumb 
devil ;  but  murder  waking  in  the  mind  of  the  civilized 
man  is  the  very  soul  of  Satan.  The  one  is  a  mad- 
man, the  other  a  reasoning  being. 

And  Hannah,  who  had  so  long  listened  to  the 
voice  of  Ambition,  whose  soul  had  been  drugged  by 
lust  of  power,  whose  better  self  had  been  slowly 
drugged  to  deep  sleep  in  the  Lotus-land  of  gratified 
desire,  found  herself  now  lending  a  willing  ear  to 
the  spirit  of  murder,  following  all  his  suggestions 
with  critical  discrimination,  rejecting  this,  encour- 
aging that,  her  whole  mind  bent  on  the  single  end — 
the  destruction  of  the  heir.  Never  for  one  moment 
did  she  stand  aghast  at  herself.  Never  once  did  the 
good  rise  and  struggle  for  mastery  with  the  evil. 
Never  once  did  she  cry  "Get  thee  behind  me !"  She 
thought  not  of  the  evil  of  the  suggestions,  but  of 
their  practicability.  She  weighed  them  as  a  general 


THE  WHISPER   OF  HELL  323 

weighs  the  reasons  governing  his  plan  of  battle; 
and,  as  the  soldier  thinks  not  of  the  slaughter  till 
the  smoke  has  rolled  from  the  battlefield,  and  the 
dead  are  disclosed  with  glazed  eyes  turned  to  the 
sky  of  heaven,  so  she  at  this  moment  never  once 
rested  her  mind  on  the  actual  destruction  of  her 
stepson.  It  was  the  plan  of  murder,  not  murder  it- 
self, that  ruled  and  possessed  her  mind. 

And  Hannah's  plan  was  this.  Once  every  day,  in 
the  afternoon,  she  would  add  to  the  child's  medi- 
cine one  drop  of  the  poison  she  had  brought  with 
her  from  Poyntz  Hall.  One  drop,  once  a  day !  And 
the  result  would  be  a  gradual,  scarce  perceptible, 
weakening  of  the  child's  frail  hold  on  life — a  slow 
falling  asleep,  a  quiet,  natural  dissolution  of  soul 
and  body.  And  in  the  meantime  she  would  neglect 
her  own  child,  shower  all  her  love  and  care  on  the 
doomed  boy,  and  even  at  the  end  watch  by  his  bed- 
side, with  the  tenderest  affection.  Such  were  her 
thoughts,  the  thoughts  of  a  murderess  in  spirit — 
thoughts  so  frightful  that  we  shudder  and  turn  with 
loathing  away,  as  if  we  ourselves  had  never  heard 
whisper  of  hell  in  the  quiet  of  our  own  souls. 


XXIV 

STORM 

LITTLE  Kyn  came  to  Mrs.  Mersey  one  after- 
noon while  that  good  dame  sat  on  one  of  the 
terraces  busy  with  her  needle  and  thread  (for  the 
worthy  lady  had  not  forgotten  her  district  in  the 
midst  of  her  greatness),  and  said  that  he  wished  to 
tell  her  something  very  important.  The  boy's  man- 
ner was  so  serious  that  the  old  lady  instantly  put 
down  her  work,  drew  her  spectacles  from  about 
her  ears,  and  looked  into  his  eyes  with  quick  intelli- 
gence. 

"What  is  it,  little  man?"  she  asked. 

"I've  seen  Mrs.  Whittle  talking  to  a  man  in  the 
woods — a  man  who  used  to  be  here  when  my  other 
mother  was  here;  and  he  is  a  horrid  man,  a  bad 
man,  because  I  once  heard  my  godfather  say  so." 

"What  is  his  name,  dear?"  said  Mrs.  Mersey, 
drawing  the  child  to  her  side. 

"He  is  Mr.  Bolt;  and  they  were  whispering  to- 
gether ;  and  he  went  one  way,  and  she  went  another 
way;  and  when  they  had  gone  I  came  away." 

"But,  little  man,  is  this  Mr.  Bolt  a  gentleman?'* 

"Not  a  real  one,"  said  Kyn,  after  some  doubt; 
"he  used  to  stay  with  my  other  mother ;  but  I  know 
my  godfather  said  he  was  bad,  and  he  was  horrid  to 
me." 

324 


STORM  325 

"Did  you  hear  what  he  said  to  Mrs.  Whittle  ?" 

Kyn  shook  his  head.  "They  were  a  long  way  off, 
but  they  kept  turning  and  looking  about  just  as  if 
they  were  afraid  I  was  listening.  But  they  never 
knew  I  was  there,  and  I  didn't  come  to  you  till  they 
had  gone  ever  so  long." 

Now,  Mrs.  Mersey  had  her  suspicions  about  the 
housekeeper,  though  she  had  oft  seen  that  grim 
person  cuddling  Hannah's  babe  and  professing  the 
greatest  admiration  for  the  lusty  bantling.  Then, 
too,  she  remembered  suddenly  that  Bolt  was  the 
name  of  the  man  who  had  spoken  to  Lord  Mane  in 
the  music-hall.  The  affair  seemed,  even  to  her  open 
mind,  somewhat  suspicious.  At  the  same  time  she 
feared  to  tell  the  earl  of  what  Kyn  had  seen,  lest 
there  should  be  nothing  of  serious  import  in  the 
child's  narrative,  and  her  interference  should  be  set 
down  to  unworthy  motives.  To  tell  Hannah  would 
be  unwise,  as  Mrs.  Mersey  well  remembered  her 
daughter's  tigerish  animosity  to  the  woman  in  those 
bad  days  before  the  birth  of  her  son,  Lord  Valen- 
tine Rollitt.  So  our  matron  concluded  her  reflec- 
tions by  an  injunction  to  Kyn  that  he  should  keep 
what  he  had  seen  secret,  and  that  if  he  should  see 
anything  more  of  a  like  kind  to  be  sure  and  acquaint 
her  with  it.  "You  are  a  clever  little  fellow,"  said 
Mrs.  Mersey,  patting  the  poor  dwarf's  white  face; 
"and  you've  got  uncommonly  sharp  eyes.  Run  away 
and  use  them,  dear,  and  your  ears  too !" 

The  boy  left  her  with  a  new  sense  of  joy  in  his 
breast.  He  had  been  praised !  He  could  be  useful ! 


326  THE   FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

A  few  hours  after  Kyn  had  told  his  story  to  Mrs. 
Mersey,  Lord  Escott — now  on  another  visit  to  Slee- 
Marly — was  riding  back  to  the  Dulvertons'  from  a 
long  afternoon  at  the  rectory,  when,  passing  the 
"Cripple's  Ease,"  he  looked  up  to  give  old  Timothy 
the  time  of  day,  and  found  himself  gazing  on  Olley 
Bolt.  The  poetaster  lounged  against  the  doorpost, 
his  hat  almost  touching  the  lintel,  his  bulk  occupying 
the  whole  of  the  narrow  doorway.  Seeing  Escott, 
he  took  the  cigarette  from  his  lips  and  came  for- 
ward with  a  dignified  smile  and  extended  hand. 

Escott,  who  had  carefully  avoided  Bolt  ever  since 
the  evening  when  Olley  asked  for  money,  and  who 
had  never  replied  to  any  of  his  letters,  was  doubtful 
how  he  should  conduct  himself  on  this  occasion.  He 
hated  the  man,  hated  his  face,  hated  his  voice,  hated 
his  touch — a  thousand  times  more  now  that  he  had 
come  from  the  society  of  Miss  Haddon ;  but  his  in- 
stinct as  a  gentleman,  his  memories  of  old  friend- 
ship, suggested  at  least  politeness.  He  gave  Bolt  his 
hand,  and  half  answered  his  smile. 

"I  have  not  come  down  here,"  laughed  Bolt,  re- 
placing his  cigarette,  "to  beg  from  you  the  honor 
of  being  your  best  man.  No,  my  dear  Escott,  I  could 
never  figure  in  a  wedding — not  even  as  the  clergy- 
man. But  you  might  have  written  a  line — the  least 
scrap  of  acknowledgment — after  that  beautiful  let- 
ter of  congratulation.  I  took  as  much  pains  over  its 
composition  as  ever  I  bestowed  upon  poems  for  our 
dear  London  butterflies.  But  I  will  heap  no  further 
my  reproaches.  Behold  my  hostel — the  "Cripple's 


STORM  327 

Ease" !  Is  not  that  a  good  half-way  house  for  those 
struggling  up  Parnassus?  Come  in,  my  dear  Es- 
cott,  drink  a  mug  of  native  cider  in  my  parlor,  and 
flick  the  ashes  of  at  least  one  cigarette  into  my 
fiber-filled  fireplace." 

He  laid  his  hand  constrainingly  on  Escort's  arm. 
"Thanks,"  said  our  gallant  lover,  "but  I  am  return- 
ing to  Slee-Marly,  to  the  Dulvertons'.  I  am  late  as 
it  is." 

"Then  let  me  walk  with  you.  It  is  delightful  to 
see  you  again.  It  revives  a  hundred  memories  of 
delicious  nights — ah!  but  that  is  forbidden  ground. 
We  must  not  retrace  our  steps,  eh  ?" 

"I  was  very  young,  then,"  Escott  answered. 

Bolt  laughed.  "Is  it  not  in  youth  that  we  fall  in 
love?"  he  exclaimed.  "But  I  would  not  have  you 
come  back.  Better  that  you  should  marry  and  estab- 
lish in  the  mind  of  our  drunken,  swearing,  good- 
for-nothing  democracy,  the  all-important  faith  that 
the  flower  of  the  British  peerage  are  almost  sans 
peur,  and  altogether  sans  reproche."  He  laughed 
again,  the  deep,  scornful,  mocking  laugh,  and  looked 
at  Escott.  "Come,"  he  cried,  "you  prosper  on 
Cupid's  food.  Your  face  is  good  traveler-brown, 
and  your  eyes  have  the  light  that  comes  from  early 
bed-getting." 

"I  am  very  fit,"  Escott  said  shortly. 

"You  walk,  my  dear  fellow,  as  if  you  were. 
Really,  too  fit.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  being  too 
fit.  If  you  keep  up  this  pace  I  shall  have  to  limp 
and  pant  behind  you,  like  a  bicyclist's  dog." 


328  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

Escott  stopped.  "Pray  don't  let  me  bring  you 
farther!"  He  held  out  his  hand,  and  met  Bolt's 
eyes. 

"One  word,"  said  Oliver.  "Is  your  attitude  to- 
wards me — I  don't  say  it  is  an  unfriendly  attitude, 
but  it  is  different  from  the  old  one — is  it,  I  ask,  in- 
spired by  the  memory  that  you  once  lent  me  a  con- 
siderable sum  of  money,  which  I  have  not  yet  been 
able  to  repay?" 

"No,"  said  Escott,  "it  is  not." 

Oliver  smiled.  "It  is  good  to  know  that.  I  dare- 
say you  have  heard  I  am  no  longer  able  to  keep  up 
with  my  old  acquaintances.  The  pace  of  society, 
like  your  walking,  is  too  much  for  me.  Society  now 
is  very  fast.  One  must  be  a  millionaire  to  cut  even 
a  tolerable  figure  there.  Ha !  But  I  shall  get  back 
some  day,  perhaps.  My  poems  will  preserve  my 
place  in  posterity :  my  wits  will  secure  me  breathing 
space  now.  I  mean,  my  dear  Escott,  to  die  a  very 
rich  man,  and  leave  a  cool  twenty-thousand  to  a 
foundling  hospital." 

A  pheasant  got  up  with  a  great  clatter  from  the 
field  at  their  side. 

"One  of  Lord  Mane's  pets!"  exclaimed  Bolt. 
"Odd  that  such  an  ungainly,  noisy  fowl  should  taste 
so  divinely!  By-the-bye,  do  you  know  the  ugly 
little  man's  wife,  the  pretty,  naughty  governess?" 

"I  have  met  her,"  said  Escott. 

"I  hope  you  respect  domestic  peace!"  laughed 
Bolt.  "But  I  see  you  are  impatient  to  be'  off.  My 
scintillations  are  as  wearisome  to  you  as  the  triads 


STORM  329 

of  Sir  Robert  Hazelwood  were  to  good  Colonel 
Mannering.  A  thousand  thanks  for  having  let  me 
walk  with  you.  Ah !  how  you  jog  memory's  elbow ! 
To  think  of  those  delicious  days,  those  wild,  beau- 
tiful nights !" 

He  laughed,  waved  his  hand  sorrowfully,  and  Es- 
cott  strode  away.  "Go  back  to  your  tea,  coxcomb !" 
muttered  Bolt  with  a  snarl.  "The  straight,  monot- 
onous road  of  marriage  will  soon  drive  you  back  into 
the  lanes  and  byways,  where  men  may  live  without 
even  once  thinking  of  a  dissenter.  You  will  dream 
on  the  domestic  pillow  of  the  ways  of  your  youth ; 
you  will  lie  awake  thinking  of  the  hours  when  life 
went  to  music  in  a  giddy  dance,  when  all  the  beauti- 
ful eyes  were  yours,  when  you  lived  unhampered 
by  twinge  of  superstitious  conscience.  But  now — 
go  back  to  your  tea  and  bread  and  butter.  Bah  !" 

Having  uttered  this  beautiful  benediction,  Mr. 
Bolt  lighted  another  cigarette,  and  lounged  back 
again  towards  his  inn.  He  seemed  to  have  a  pur- 
pose in  being  out  of  doors,  for  he  hung  about  the 
gravel  square  outside  the  "Cripple's  Ease,"  and  oc- 
casionally sauntered  up  towards  the  castle  gates — 
an  apparently  aimless  exercise  which  was  not  by  any 
means  a  favorite  pastime  of  our  gentleman.  Pres- 
ently the  object  of  all  this  lounging  and  sauntering 
seemed  to  be  accomplished.  Lord  Mane  passed,  and 
Mr.  Bolt,  with  well-simulated  annoyance  at  being 
seen,  bent  his  head,  brought  his  handkerchief  quickly 
to  his  face,  and  with  much  coughing  hurried  back 
to  the  inn.  Once  inside  his  room  he  sank  into  a 


330  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

chair,  laughed  quietly  to  himself,  muttered  some- 
thing about  sowing  seed,  and  presently  fell  asleep 
over  a  modern  novel. 

On  the  day  following,  Mrs.  Mersey  drove  away 
soon  after  breakfast  to  attend  a  meeting  of  the 
Vedonshire  Needlework  Guild  at  the  bishop's  pal- 
ace, where  she  was  to  be  the  guest  of  Mrs.  Davis 
for  that  night.  It  was  a  stifling  hot  morning,  and 
the  blue  of  the  sky  was  tinged  with  a  blackness  that 
portended  storm.  The  green  of  the  grass  wore  that 
ominous  hue  that  suggests  terror,  or  at  least  appre- 
hension. The  air  that  hung  motionless  about  the 
shadowed  trees,  as  if  waiting  for  some  terrible  event, 
shuddered  every  now  and  then,  setting  all  the  green 
leaves  shivering  on  the  quiet  boughs.  The  cattle 
moved  towards  the  shelter  of  the  trees  and  left  the 
open  meadows  bare  and  exposed.  Hardly  a  bird 
was  to  be  seen  against  the  threatening  sky. 

Kyn,  upon  whose  frail  body  the  poison  was  grad- 
ually working,  so  that  he  suffered  all  day  from  an 
almost  intolerable  drowsiness,  stole  away  soon  after 
Mrs.  Mersey's  departure,  and  betook  himself  to  the 
woods.  His  mind  was  filled  with  the  prodigious 
idea  that  he  could  be  useful,  and  without  knowing 
why,  he  was  aware  that  to  watch  Oliver  Bolt  and 
mark  that  objectionable  person's  movements  was  his 
especial  task.  So  creeping  stealthily  through  the 
woods, — now  crawling  under  thick  brushwood,  now 
manfully  fighting  his  way  through  a  network  of 
blackberry  branches, — the  brave  little  boy  made  his 
way  to  the  edge  of  the  copse,  a  point  from  which  he 


STORM  331 

could  obtain  a  view  of  the  village  through  the  pal- 
ings. For  many  minutes  the  child  pressed  his 
pinched  face  against  that  moss-speckled  fence  and 
searched  the  narrow  horizon  afforded  by  this  open- 
ing for  the  object  of  Mrs.  Mersey's  alarm.  This 
dreary  vigil  he  would  occasionally  vary  by  moving 
to  a  spot  where  he  could  see  the  park,  and  from 
there  watching  for  Mrs.  Whittle.  At  first  the  boy 
was  excited  by  his  work,  and  his  senses  were  keen 
and  awake,  but  as  the  minutes  passed  and  nothing 
came  of  it,  he  gradually  relaxed  in  his  interest,  and 
slowly  drooped  and  drooped  till  at  last  he  fell  sound 
asleep. 

The  bell  at  the  castle  had  clanged  the  hour  of  one 
over  the  now  darkening  scene,  and  all  the  laborers 
on  the  estate  were  safe  indoors  at  their  dinner  talk- 
ing of  the  coming  storm,  when  little  Kyn  opened  his 
eyes  and  remembered  that  he  had  fallen  asleep  at 
his  post.  Miserable  and  sad,  the  poor  child  got 
upon  his  feet,  rubbed  his  stiff  legs  and  stretched 
his  stiff  arms,  and  slowly  made  his  way  back  through 
the  wood.  Just  as  he  was  about  to  break  from  the 
trees  into  the  park,  and  so  make  a  short  cut  to  the 
castle,  a  slight,  scarcely-heard  cracking  of  twigs  on 
his  left  caused  him  to  pause,  and  looking  in  that 
direction  he  saw  in  the  far  distance  the  figure  of  a 
man  clambering  over  the  stone  wall  that  separated 
the  woods  from  the  garden.  The  boy  stopped  at 
once,  and,  climbing  a  few  feet  up  a  tree,  watched  the 
man. 

It  was  Oliver  Bolt;  the  boy  recognized  the  mas- 


332  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

sive  figure,  even  at  that  distance.  Where  was  he 
going?  Apparently  straight  to  the  house.  And 
there  was  no  one  to  stop  him,  no  one  even  to  see 
him.  His  father  and  mother  would  be  at  lunch  in 
the  room  which  looked  to  the  south;  the  servants 
were  in  the  kitchen  which  faced  towards  the  stables 
on  the  other  side ;  and  he,  this  mysterious  bad  man, 
was  walking  boldly  towards  the  little  private  east 
door  which  led  straight  to  the  first  floor  of  the 
house.  The  boy  watched  with  straining  eyes  and 
parched  lips  the  slowly  disappearing  figure  of  Oliver 
Bolt;  he  saw  him  reach  the  door,  open  it,  pass  in- 
side, saw  his  face  even  as  he  turned  to  close  the  door 
behind  him.  Who  had  opened  that  door?  Who 
had  drawn  back  the  bolts  ? 

He  climbed  from  his  tree,  struggled  on  till  he 
reached  the  park,  and  then  trotting  with  clenched 
fists  and  many  a  weary  gasp  over  the  uneven  ground, 
hurried  to  the  south  side  of  the  castle.  It  was  past 
half -past  one  when  he  turned  the  handle  of  the 
dining-room  door  and  presented  himself  before  his 
parents,  tired,  hot,  scratched,  and  dirty. 

Lord  Mane,  whose  mind  had  been  occupied,  ever 
since  his  meeting  with  Mr.  Bolt  on  the  previous 
evening,  with  the  reasons  for  that  undesirable  per- 
son's presence  in  the  neighborhood  (a  person,  ac- 
cording to  Criddle,  who  was  more  guilty  than  Sir 
Michael  Dulverton) — was  in  a  very  undesirable  tem- 
per. His  gold  toothpick  was  in  his  mouth,  his  eye- 
brows were  knitted,  and  his  face  twitched  every 
now  and  then  in  a  spasm  of  annoyance. 


STORM  333 

"Where  the  devil  have  you  been?"  he  cried, 
when  Kyn  entered  the  room.  "How  dare  you  come 
in  late  to  meals  ?" 

Kyn  looked  at  his  stepmother.  "I  fell  asleep  in 
the  woods,"  he  said  wearily.  "I  am  very  sorry. 
Shall  I  go  and  make  myself  tidy?" 

Lady  Mane  looked  at  her  husband.  The  earl 
called  to  the  footman,  pointed  with  his  toothpick  to 
the  child,  and  bade  the  fellow  take  his  lordship 
to  Mrs.  Whittle's  room  and  ask  the  housekeeper  to 
give  him  lunch  there.  "Damme,"  he  concluded,  "I 
won't  have  these  damned  railway  meals  in  my  house. 
Take  him  away." 

The  footman  gave  Kyn  his  hand,  and  led  him  to 
the  housekeeper's  room.  As  they  went  the  child 
did  not  think  about  his  father's  upbraiding ;  he  won- 
dered whether  he  would  see  Bolt  in  the  room,  and 
whether  that  horrid  man  would  be  unkind  to  him. 
He  wished  with  all  his  heart  that  Mrs.  Mersey  had 
not  gone  away. 

The  footman  knocked  at  the  housekeeper's  door. 
There  was  a  pause.  No  one  bade  them  enter,  but 
presently  the  door  half  opened,  and  the  housekeeper 
stood  there,  black  and  inscrutable.  The  footman 
gave  his  message.  For  a  moment  the  housekeeper 
seemed  as  if  she  intended  to  defy  the  earl's  com- 
mand. She  stood  glaring  at  the  child,  studying  his 
face,  his  disordered  clothes,  his  dirty  hands,  as 
though  unwilling  to  admit  so  disreputable  a  creature 
to  her  room.  Then,  still  standing  in  the  half-opened 
door,  she  turned  her  head,  looked  back  into  the 


334  THE    FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

room,  and  after  that  drew  the  child  in.  "You 
needn't  bring  food,"  she  said  to  the  footman; 
"there's  more  here  than  I  want." 

The  door  shut,  and  the  boy  stood  inside  the  room 
alone  with  the  housekeeper.  She  lifted  him  up 
roughly,  set  him  upon  a  chair,  placed  some  chicken 
before  him,  which  she  herself,  apparently,  had  just 
been  eating,  and  bade  him  be  quick,  for  she  had  no 
time  to  waste. 

The  frightened  child  ate  what  he  could,  every 
morsel  almost  choking  him,  and  scarcely  dared  to 
raise  his  eyes  from  the  plate.  He  wondered  whether 
Oliver  Bolt  was  standing  behind  him,  or  whether 
that  bad  man  was  under  the  table.  He  glanced  fur- 
tively under  his  eyes  at  the  curtains  by  the  window, 
at  the  cupboard  in  the  corner,  at  the  box  against 
the  wall.  At  last,  dropping  his  fork  upon  the  plate, 
he  said  he  wanted  no  more  food,  and  slipped  off  the 
chair.  Mrs.  Whittle  followed  him  to  the  door. 

"Go  and  play  in  the  schoolroom,"  she  said,  "and 
don't  hang  about  the  corridors  in  those  dirty 
clothes." 

Glad  to  be  out  of  that  haunted  room,  where  he 
had  hardly  been  able  to  breathe  freely,  Kyn  hurried 
down  the  corridor,  turned  into  the  main  gallery, 
where  his  mother's  room  was  situated,  and  then, 
slackening  his  pace,  walked  slowly  towards  the 
schoolroom.  Half-way  down  the  corridor  he  turned 
round  to  look  behind  him,  and  there  at  the  end, 
watching  his  progress  with  impatient  eyes,  stood 
the  housekeeper.  Kyn  turned  away  his  gaze  and 
continued  his  walk. 


STORM  335 

But  when  he  came  opposite  the  great  staircase  he 
encountered  his  father.  The  earl  looked  half 
ashamed  of  himself,  and  beckoned  the  boy  to  his 
side.  Surprised  by  the  sudden  change  in  the  old 
man's  manner,  the  child  went  to  him. 

"How's  the  head,  Kyn?"  said  the  repentant  earl. 

"Better,  thank  you,"  the  child  said. 

"An'  what  are  you  goin'  to  do  now?" 

"Mrs.  Whittle  said  I  was  to  go  to  the  school- 
room." 

"But  you've  got  no  one  to  play  with,  have  you? 
There  ain't  no  Mrs.  Mersey  to  play  with  you  to-day. 
Well,  suppose  I  give  you  a  treat  ?  What  d'ye  think 
of  that,  now  ?" 

The  boy  looked  up,  then  his  gaze  wandered  away. 
"I  think  it  would  be  nice,"  he  said  doubtfully. 

"Come  on,  then,"  cried  the  father,  and  taking  the 
child's  hand  they  went  on  down  the  corridor,  and 
turned  off  abruptly  to  the  left  some  few  yards  before 
they  reached  the  end. 

"Now  for  some  real  fun,  Kyn!"  chuckled  the 
earl.  "You  and  I  are  goin'  to  have  a  game  all  to 
ourselves.  Don't  tell  anyone.  It's  a  secret.  A  se- 
cret between  you  and  me." 

As  he  spoke  the  narrow  passage  was  suddenly 
illuminated  with  white  dazzling  light,  and  almost 
at  the  same  moment  a  roar  of  distant  thunder  woke 
the  slumbering  echoes  of  the  castle. 

"The  storm's  begun,"  said  the  earl.  "You  and 
I'll  play  together  till  it's  gone.  We'll  have  a  jolly 
afternoon  together,  me  and  you.  Now  look  at  that, 


336  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

Kyn,"  he  said,  pointing  to  a  door  at  the  end  of  the 
passage.  "Have  you  ever  tried  to  turn  that  handle, 
ever  been  inside  that  door  ?" 

"No,"  said  the  child. 

"No,  I  should  think  not,"  chuckled  the  earl,  fum- 
bling in  his  waistcoat  pocket.  "No  one  ever  goes 
here  but  me.  No  one  ever  opens  this  door  but  me." 

"Is  it  Kyn's  Way?"  asked  the  child  with  great 
delight. 

A  distant  growl  of  thunder  rolled  sullenly  away. 
"Ay,  boy,  it's  Kyn's  Way.  A  rare  place  for  a  game ! 
A  rare  place  for  fairies !"  He  produced  his  key,  in- 
serted it  in  the  lock,  and  then  with  a  tug  pulled  open 
the  door.  This  door  was  of  extraordinary  thickness, 
like  the  door  of  an  enormous  safe ;  it  was  lined  with 
steel,  and  it  fitted  so  tightly  as  to  make  the  closet 
which  now  stood  before  them  almost  air-tight.  Op- 
posite this  door  was  another,  a  door  of  equal  thick- 
ness which  opened  inwards  by  means  of  a  large  cen- 
tral bolt,  and  disclosed  what  looked  like  a  small 
stone  chamber — a  room  something  like  that  shown 
to  the  inquisitive  traveler  at  Kenilworth  as  the 
chamber  where  poor  Amy  Robsart  waited  for  Lei- 
cester. It  was  dimly  lighted  by  a  long  narrow  loop- 
hole in  the  stone  walls  many  feet  out  of  human 
reach,  and  at  its  farther  side  was  an  archway  lead- 
ing to  the  stone  tunnel  built  into  those  mighty  walls. 

A  flash  of  lightning  danced  round  this  little  cham- 
ber where  they  stood,  and  Kyn,  trembling  in  the 
stillness  and  gloom  of  the  apartment,  clutched  his 
father's  side  and  cowered  there  like  one  sore  terri- 


STORM  337 

fied.  There  was  something  unearthly  in  the  cham- 
ber, something  of  the  tomb  in  its  appearance  and 
atmosphere.  Even  the  earl,  who  had  not  opened 
those  grim  doors  for  nearly  thirty  years,  felt  the 
thrill  of  the  scene,  and  laid  a  sympathetic  hand  on 
his  child's  head. 

"We  want  a  light,  Kyn,  don't  we  ?  It  ain't  dread- 
ful and  creepy  in  the  light.  Come  along,  an'  we'll 
get  a  taper."  They  went  back  to  the  passage,  and 
there  the  earl  told  Kyn  to  wait  while  he  went  for  a 
light.  But  the  child  begged  to  be  taken,  saying  he 
did  not  like  to  be  left  there  alone,  and  the  earl,  leav- 
ing the  doors  open,  gave  the  boy  his  hand,  and  they 
went  down  the  corridor  together. 

Entering  the  main  gallery  they  came  across  the 
countess  walking  from  the  nursery  to  her  room. 
She  seemed  surprised  at  first  to  see  Lord  Mane  with 
the  child,  but  quickly  recovering  herself,  patted  the 
boy's  face  with  a  sweet  smile.  "Don't  forget  to 
come  for  your  medicine  at  five  o'clock,"  she  said 
gently,  while  a  roar  of  thunder  rolled  angrily  over 
their  heads ;  and  then,  turning  to  the  earl,  she  whis- 
pered with  much  tenderness,  "I  am  so  glad  to  see 
you  with  him.  Poor  little  fellow." 

The  earl  winced,  for  he  did  not  like  anyone,  par- 
ticularly his  wife,  to  think  him  guilty  of  gentleness 
or — as  he  would  have  called  it — sentimental  weak- 
ness. The  countess  went  on  to  her  bedroom,  and 
the  earl,  with  Kyn,  continued  his  journey. 

It  did  not  take  Lord  Mane  many  moments  to  arm 
himself  with  a  few  tapers,  but  just  as  he  was  leaving 


338     THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

his  study  a  message  came  from  the  farm  bailiff,  and 
my  lord  was  obliged  to  leave  the  boy  while  he  went 
to  attend  to  this  business. 

In  ten  minutes  he  returned.  "Haven't  kep*  you 
long,  little  man,"  he  said.  "I  ain't  goin'  to  let  busi- 
ness interfere  with  our  holiday!  Ain't  it  fun,  Kyn? 
You  an'  me  playin'  together!"  He  stopped  and 
looked  with  rough  affection  at  the  boy.  He  wanted 
to  say  how  sorry  he  was  that  in  a  moment  of  ill- 
temper  he  had  spoken  harshly  to  the  child  at  lunch ; 
but  apologies  do  not  come  easily  from  men  of  the 
earl's  nature,  and  this  handsome  sentiment  died  at 
birth  in  my  lord's  mind.  However,  he  did  say: 
"You  an'  me,  Kyn,  are  goin'  to  be  friends  always. 
We're  goin'  to  have  some  fine  rides  together,  you 
see  if  we  don't;  an'  I'll  show  you  the  farm  every 
day,  an'  you  shall  have  some  bantams  for  yourself, 
an'  some  doves,  an'  a  guinea-pig,  an'  a  white  rab- 
bit. What  d'ye  think  of  that,  now?" 

His  little  green  eyes  blinked  and  watered  as  he 
ran  over  the  glorious  future  awaiting  his  son.  The 
boy  very  gracefully  slipped  his  poor  hand  into  his 
father's,  and  nestled  for  a  moment  against  his  side. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  the  earl;  "you  an'  I  un- 
derstand each  other,  eh  ?  Now  then,  come  along,  an' 
we'll  go  all  roun'  the  castle  inside  the  walls.  Won't 
that  be  funny,  now  ?" 

He  lighted  one  of  the  tapers,  and  giving  the  boy 
his  hand  went  out  from  the  room.  The  rain  was 
descending  in  torrents,  the  sky  was  black,  and 


STORM  339 

louder  and  louder  grew  the  thunder  as  the  storm 
closed  in  over  the  darkened  castle. 

"Ain't  it  a  storm,  Kyn !"  chuckled  the  earl ;  "what 
a  day  for  Kyn's  Way !  We  shall  be  safe  there,  old 
boy ;  nothin'  can  get  at  us  there,  not  lightning  nor 
thunder." 

With  many  a  chuckle  he  climbed  the  stairs,  hold- 
ing the  taper  before  him,  and  looking  only  at  the 
step  just  ahead  of  his  progress.  But  Kyn,  with  the 
impatience  of  youth,  looked  to  the  top  of  the  broad 
staircase,  and,  as  he  fixed  his  eyes  there,  suddenly 
out  of  the  gloom,  with  sharp,  shining  eyes  and  agi- 
tated face,  came  the  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Whittle. 
She  stood  behind  the  white  marble  balustrade,  lean- 
ing over,  watching  the  unsteady,  pale  flame  of  the 
taper — a  black,  gaunt,  spectral  figure,  lit  every  now 
and  then  into  vivid  life  by  a  white,  dazzling  flash  of 
lightning. 

Scarcely  had  Kyn  noticed  her  than  she  began  to 
descend  the  staircase  rapidly,  the  great,  broad  stair- 
case forbidden  to  all  menials,  whatever  their  de- 
gree, when  once  the  family  had  risen  from  sleep. 
She  came  down  quickly,  her  eyes,  burning  like 
black  diamonds,  fixed  upon  the  earl.  He  looked  up 
suddenly,  and  stopped  dead. 

"What  d'ye  want  ?"  he  demanded. 

"Send  him  away,"  she  whispered,  motioning  to 
the  child,  and  speaking  in  a  voice  of  dread  import. 
"Send  him  away.  Quick!  He  must  not  hear  or 
see." 

"What  d'ye  want  ?  Speak,  damme,  speak !" 


340  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

She  bent  her  head  to  his  ear  and  whispered. 

The  blood  went  from  his  face.  The  taper  shook 
in  his  hand  like  the  leaf  of  an  aspen.  His  jaw 
dropped ;  his  eyes  stared  before  him  like  those  of  a 
dead  man. 

The  housekeeper  gripped  Kyn's  arm,  turned  him 
swiftly  round,  and  bade  him  go  down  to  the  hall  and 
wait  there.  The  boy  did  as  she  bade  him.  Once 
again  she  stood  by  the  earl's  side. 

"I  may  be  wrong,"  she  whispered,  "but  I  heard 
voices.  I  heard  her  ladyship  lock  the  door.  None 
of  the  servants  have  heard  or  seen  anything.  There 
need  be  no  scandal.  It  may  be  nothing  after  all ;  go 
quickly." 

A  tremendous  clap  of  thunder  broke  over  the 
house,  splintering  itself  into  a  thousand  separate 
roars. 

The  earl  dashed  forward.  "I  know  who  it  is !  I 
know  who  it  is !"  His  stupor  vanished ;  the  bale- 
ful fires  of  jealousy  flashed  in  his  green  eyes,  and 
groaning  like  a  man  in  pain,  he  rushed  before  the 
housekeeper  down  the  long  gallery,  his  taper  fling- 
ing tragic  lights  on  the  darkened  walls  and  the  shad- 
owed statues  as  he  swept  forward  to  his  wife's 
room. 


XXV 

KYN'S  WAY 

WHEN  Hannah  left  Lord  Mane  and  Kyn  in 
the  corridor,  she  proceeded  immediately  to 
her  boudoir.  As  she  walked  slowly  forward  the 
reverberating  growl  of  a  long-drawn  peal  of  thun- 
der rolled  ominously  in  her  ears.  For  the  first  time 
she  thought  of  the  storm  in  connection  with  her 
crime.  The  anger  of  the  heavens,  the  darkness  of 
the  corridor,  oppressed  and  frightened  her.  She 
moved  forward,  wondering  whether  it  could  be  pos- 
sible for  the  elements — the  wild,  mysterious  ele- 
ments!— to  be  influenced  by  human  actions.  The 
idea  seemed  to  her  so  absurd  that  at  its  very  state- 
ment the  cloudy  hypothesis  vanished  from  her  mind. 

Opening  her  door,  she  was  almost  blinded  by  a 
flash  of  lightning  that  shot  like  a  flame  of  fire 
through  the  leaden-colored  glass  and  flooded  the 
room  with  light.  Ere  she  had  closed  the  door, 
thunder  of  the  most  terrifying  kind  answered  the 
flame — splitting,  cracking,  roaring — and  then  roll- 
ing itself  away  in  majestic  sullenness.  Hannah, 
with  trembling  hand,  turned  on  the  electric  light. 
Then  she  locked  the  door. 

On  the  table  in  the  center  of  the  room  stood  Kyn's 
medicine ;  beside  it  a  medicine  glass.  Hannah  went 
34i 


342  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

first  of  all  to  her  bedroom,  which  opened  out  of  the 
boudoir,  and  then  returned  to  the  table  with  the 
little  round  bottle  of  poison  in  her  hand.  She  set 
this  down,  and  took  up  the  glass  and  the  medicine. 
She  held  the  glass  up  to  the  darkened  window, 
through  which  could  be  seen  the  reflection  of  the 
globe  of  light  hanging  mysteriously  in  the  blackness 
outside,  and  then,  very  carefully,  she  poured  the 
medicine  into  the  glass,  measuring  the  dose  with 
great  accuracy.  She  paused  for  a  moment,  look- 
ing out  on  the  black  scene,  watching  the  great  lines 
of  rain  streaming  down  upon  the  earth,  looking 
even  at  the  dull  reflection  of  herself  standing  there 
with  the  medicine  in  her  hand,  and  then  she  went 
back  to  the  table.  She  replaced  the  bottle  of  medi- 
cine, and  sitting  down,  took  up  the  bottle  of  poison. 
She  pushed  her  chair  some  few  inches  from  the 
table,  leaned  forward,  so  that  her  face  was  on  a  level 
with  the  glass,  and  then  gently  tilted  the  bottle  of 
poison  over  the  glass.  A  flash  of  lightning  danced 
across  the  room  as  the  fatal  drop  struck  the  medi- 
cine and  was  lost  in  the  liquid.  Hannah  jumped 
hastily  up,  clutching  the  poison  in  her  hand,  terrified 
by  that  ominous  flash.  Thunder  now  crashed 
threatenings  in  her  ears — thunder  that  seemed  to 
burst  but  an  inch  above  her  head,  and  stab  with  a 
thousand  daggers  into  her  very  brain.  She  was 
frightened.  Thoughts  of  the  danger  she  incurred 
forced  themselves  upon  her  mind.  She  stood  in 
the  room,  beside  the  poisoned  glass,  gazing  with 
clouded  brow  through  the  dark  windows.  Her 


KYN'S  WAY  343 

breath  came  quickly ;  her  heart  beat  apprehensively. 
Dread  of  some  mysterious  evil  that  was  near  her, 
in  the  very  room  with  her,  possessed  and  mesmer- 
ized her  faculties.  She  looked  swiftly  round  the 
room;  at  the  curtains  by  the  windows;  into  the 
darkness  of  her  bedroom,  seen  through  the  open 
door ;  at  the  bookcase  on  her  right ;  at  the  lounge 
on  her  left ;  then  behind  her  at  the  door.  No !  there 
was  no  one  there.  She  turned  round  again;  then 
she  stood  transfixed  with  horror. 

The  poison  fell  from  her  hand  and  spilled  itself 
upon  the  floor,  the  bottle  rolling  away  under  the 
table.  Her  hands  were  caught  up  at  her  breast,  her 
eyes  stood  out  from  her  head,  and  her  white  lips 
were  apart  in  the  keenest  throe  of  terror. 

"I  have  caught  you !"  Bolt  said,  coming  forward. 
"Yes,  it's  all  over  now.  I  promised  you  we  two 
should  meet  again.  You  remember  ?" 

She  could  only  stare  at  him  with  those  panic- 
stricken  eyes,  her  hands  clutching  at  her  breast.  He 
had  caught  her ;  she  had  lost  everything. 

He,  on  his  part,  could  not  imagine  why  his  pres- 
ence there  had  robbed  her  of  all  self-possession. 
He  had  expected,  and  had  been  prepared  for,  a  sud- 
den rush  to  the  bell,  a  violent  denunciation,  a  con- 
temptuous dismissal.  His  plan  was  only  to  keep 
her  in  that  room  with  him,  the  door  locked,  till  Mrs. 
Whittle  brought  the  earl  to  discover  them.  This 
deadly  white,  gasping,  gaping  woman,  standing 
there  before  him  voiceless  and  motionless,  perplexed 
him,  filled  him  with  doubt,  and  swept  the  words  he 


344  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

had  intended  to  say  out  of  his  wondering  mind. 

He  came  close  to  her  and  took  her  wrists  in  his 
hands,  forcing  them  down  to  her  side.  Still  hold- 
ing them  there,  he  brought  his  face  to  hers,  so  that 
he  felt  her  gasping  breath  upon  his  cheeks,  and 
answered  her  fixed  stare  with  a  glance  as  steady  and 
of  far  deadlier  meaning.  It  was  the  intent  gaze  of  a 
hound ;  her's,  the  wild  glance  of  the  bleeding  deer. 

"Vaulting  ambition,"  he  hissed,  "doth  o'erleap 
itself.  You  dreamed  too  much.  You  looked  too 
high.  You  came  across  my  path.  And  now  this  is 
the  end!  Do  you  understand? — this  is  the  end! 
All  your  castles  have  tumbled  to  the  ground,  my  heel 
is  on  them,  grinding  them  to  dust !  I  like  to  tell  you 
this  now,  because  we  shall  never  see  each  other 
again,  and  you  would  never  know  why  I  have 
schemed  to  bring  you  from  your  throne.  This  is 
my  revenge.  You  interfered  with  my  plans;  you 
schemed  against  my  schemes.  And  this  is  the  end !" 

He  laughed  scornfully,  gripping  her  wrists 
fiercely,  while  his  sneering  face  was  pressed  close  to 
her  own.  The  lightning  leaped  into  the  room, 
flashed  upon  those  two  figures  standing  there  all  but 
motionless  in  the  center  of  the  apartment,  and  then 
died  out  of  sight  at  the  first  roar  of  thunder.  Bolt 
laughed  gaily,  but  with  scowling  brows. 

They  were  standing  thus  when  the  handle  of  the 
door  was  turned  noisily.  "Your  hour  has  come!" 
Bolt  whispered,  swinging  her  suddenly  back,  then 
drawing  her  swiftly  forward  to  him  again. 

There  was  a  loud  knock  at  the  door.  "Open!" 
cried  the  voice  of  the  earl. 


KYN'S  WAY  345 

"They  have  come !"  said  Bolt.  "Shall  I  let  them 
in,  or  will  you?" 

"Open,  open!"  cried  the  earl,  kicking  at  the 
panel. 

"I  had  better  go,  perhaps,"  whispered  Bolt.  "It 
will  seem  more  knightly.  Pray  stand  where  you 
are.  You  look  delightfully  tragic.  If  only  the 
lightning  flashes  when  he  enters  and  the  thunder 
roars  when  he  takes  you  in  his  arms !" 

"Damme,  will  you  open?"  shrieked  the  earl, 
kicking  at  the  door  fiercely. 

"The  old  gentleman's  in  a  devil  of  a  hurry  to  get 
at  you !"  said  Bolt,  walking  to  the  door. 

Directly  his  back  was  turned,  Hannah  stretched 
out  her  arm,  seized  the  poisoned  medicine,  threw  the 
liquid  upon  the  floor,  and  then  silently  slipped  the 
glass  back  upon  the  table.  She  had  scarce  done 
this,  when,  turning  her  head,  she  saw  the  door  open- 
ing, and  her  husband  rushing  in  with  a  lighted  taper 
in  his  hand,  the  figure  of  Mrs.  Whittle  looming 
darkly  behind. 

He  stood  there  trembling  all  over — Bolt  before 
him,  as  if  to  restrain  him  from  rushing  upon  her — 
and  he  glared  at  her  with  a  ferocity  human  coun- 
tenance can  never  express  till  the  whole  mind  is 
twisted  and  distorted  by  the  most  terrible  passion. 

"Your  wife,  my  lord,"  said  Bolt,  in  a  theatrical 
voice,  "is  innocent.  I  swear  it." 

"Who  locked  this  door?"  he  cried,  breathing  hard, 
looking  at  her  fiercely,  the  taper  flickering  in  his 
shaking  hand. 


346  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

"My  lord,"  began  Bolt,  "appearances  are,  I  admit, 
against  Lady  Mane,  but " 

He  stopped  abruptly.  There  was  a  cry  of  "Mam- 
ma" from  the  corridor  outside.  The  figure  of  Mrs. 
Whittle  vanished  from  the  open  door.  There  was 
another  cry,  but  it  was  quickly  smothered;  then 
came  sounds  of  a  faint  struggle,  then  silence. 

"Who  locked  this  door  ?"  demanded  the  trembling 
earl.  It  seemed  to  be  the  only  idea  in  his  mind,  the 
only  sentence  he  could  utter.  His  face  was  a  ghastly 
white ;  his  eyebrows  twitched ;  his  lips  worked  in  a 
very  frenzy  of  rage. 

"Who  locked  this  door?" 

"My  lord,"  said  Bolt  again,  "I  am  perfectly  will- 
ing to  admit  that  you  have  every  justification  for 
your " 

"Who  locked  this  door?"  he  cried,  never  taking 
his  eyes  from  the  stricken  gaze  of  his  wife. 

At  last  she  found  speech.  "What  does  it  all 
mean?"  she  stammered,  the  words  jerked  from  her 
white  lips.  "I  am  innocent.  I  can  explain." 

"You  hear,"  said  Bolt,  "her  ladyship  can  ex- 
plain everything.  Appearances,  my  lord,  are — I 
have  said  it,  and  I  willingly  admit  it — dead  against 
her,  black  against  her." 

"I'll  listen  to  your  explanations,"  said  the  earl 
suddenly,  a  new  light  in  his  eyes.  "You  shall  tell 
me  why  this  door  was  locked.  But  not  here.  We 
will  go  where  we  cannot  be  overheard.  Follow 
me!" 

He  went  out  of  the  room,  the  taper  held  high  in 


KYN'S  WAY  347 

his  hand,  and  Bolt  motioned  Hannah  to  follow  him. 
The  distracted  woman  rushed  past  the  smiling  vil- 
lain and  hurried  after  the  earl. 

'I  can  explain  everything,"  she  said  quickly. 
"There  is  some  terrible  mistake.  Some  dreadful 
plot  against  me.  What  do  they  accuse  me  of  ?  Tell 
me  what  they  say?" 

"Silence !"  he  snarled,  wheeling  round  upon  her. 
"Would  you  have  all  the  servants  for  an  audience  ?" 
So  they  went  down  the  long  corridor,  the  earl 
first,  with  the  taper  trembling  in  his  hand,  Hannah 
following  almost  at  his  side,  and  Bolt  last,  lounging 
along  with  a  satisfied  smile  on  his  dark  evil  coun- 
tenance. As  they  went  the  thunder  rolled  over  their 
heads,  and  the  distant  window  at  the  end  of  the  cor- 
ridor was  lit  up  with  quick  flashes  of  vivid  light- 
ning. 

The  earl  turned  off  on  the  left  and  glanced  round 
with  a  fierce,  tigerish  gaze  to  see  if  they  were  follow- 
ing. They  went  on,  this  grim  procession,  till  they 
reached  the  open  door  of  Kyn's  Way.  Hannah  had 
never  been  in  this  part  of  the  castle  before,  but  she 
was  too  distracted  to  notice  where  he  led  her,  and 
walked  forward,  thinking,  thinking,  thinking  of  the 
evil  that  had  so  suddenly  befallen  her,  and  of  how  to 
extricate  herself  from  the  toils  of  the  villain  behind 
her. 

The  earl  went  forward  into  the  little  stone  apart- 
ment, and  stood  at  the  door  as  they  passed  in. 

"We  shall  be  private  here !"  he  said  fiercely.  "No 
one  will  interrupt  us;  no  one  will  overhear  us. 


348  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

Stand  there,  both  of  you!"  He  pointed  to  the 
farther  side  of  the  chamber. 

They  both  obeyed  him,  and  as  they  went  for- 
ward he  suddenly  seized  the  door,  flung  the  taper 
into  Bolt's  quickly  turned  face,  shrieked  "Kyn's 
Way!"  and  then  swung  the  door  to  with  a  heavy, 
echoing  clang.  He  listened  for  a  moment,  but  no 
sound  came  through  that  heavy  door.  Then  he 
went  out,  shut  the  other  heavier  door,  locked  it  with 
the  key  that  was  still  in  the  lock,  and  after  that  de- 
scended quickly  to  his  own  private  room,  and  locked 
himself  in. 

He  had  not  been  there  long,  however,  before  there 
was  a  knock  at  the  door.  He  rose  with  an  oath, 
opened  it,  and  faced  Mrs.  Whittle. 

"What  has  happened?"  she  said. 

"They've  gone." 

"Gone !  What  do  you  mean  ?  Gone ! — those  two ! 
Where  have  they  gone  ?" 

"Gone  to  the  devil,  where  you  may  go  too!"  he 
cried  fiercely,  stamping  his  foot.  "Am  I  to  answer 
as  many  damned  questions  as  you  choose  to  ask? 
Go  to  the  devil !" 

He  swung  the  door  in  her  face,  locked  it,  and  then 
rang  his  bell. 

In  a  few  minutes  our  old  friend  William  rapped  at 
the  private  sliding  panel,  and  was  admitted.  The 
young  fellow  started  back  when  he  saw  his  mas- 
ter's deadly  pallor,  and  marked  all  the  evidences  of 
his  extreme  mental  excitation. 

"I  don't  want  dinner  to-night,"  said  the  earl, 


KYN'S  WAY  349 

staring  at  him  fiercely;  "and  the  countess  don't 
want  it,  either.  Bring  me  a  couple  bottles  of 
whisky,  and  look  sharp." 

When  William  returned  with  the  whisky  the  earl 
was  lighting  his  oil  lamp,  for  it  was  only  in  this 
isolated  room  that  the  electric  light  was  not  placed, 
and  as  the  servant  entered  he  turned  round  and  bade 
him  see  that  no  one  came  to  disturb  him. 

"I'll  see  no  one — no  one,"  he  said,  with  the  same 
strange  ferocity.  "When  I  want  you  I'll  ring,  an* 
don't  you  come  before.  Mind  that !" 

The  servant  retired,  and  the  earl  locked  the  door 
after  him.  Then,  flinging  himself  suddenly  upon 
the  ground,  the  old  man  sobbed  like  a  child  over  a 
broken  toy.  The  light  in  his  life  had  gone  out ;  the 
tardy  happiness  that  had  come  to  him  in  these  last 
months  had  been  snatched  away.  There  was  noth- 
ing to  live  for. 


XXVI 

KYN'S  WAY 

AS  the  door  of  Kyn's  Way  clanged  noisily  to, 
and  Oliver  Bolt  found  himself  prisoned  there 
like  a  rat  in  a  trap,  he  sprang  forward,  picked  the 
still  burning  taper  from  the  floor,  and  hastily 
searched  every  part  of  the  steel-covered  door  for 
some  means  of  escape.  The  taper  was  burning  low, 
and  he  knew  that  soon  the  dreary  stone  chamber 
must  be  plunged  in  darkness.  With  feverish  eager- 
ness, like  a  madman  seeking  exit  from  his  cell  at 
the  cry  of  "Fire !"  this  terrified  man  flashed  the 
flickering  taper  first  here,  then  there,  the  disen- 
gaged hand  passing  rapidly  over  the  smooth  steel 
surface,  seeking  for  some  secret  means  of  regain- 
ing his  freedom. 

Hannah  stood  behind  him,  watching  his  move- 
ments with  lack-luster  eyes,  her  arms  at  her  side, 
her  face  still  pale,  but  freed  at  last  from  the  dread 
strain,  of  her  paroxysm  of  terror.  She  watched  him 
without  interest  of  any  kind.  She  was  untouched 
by  his  feverish  movements,  unmoved  by  his  fre- 
quent curses  and  mutterings.  She  saw  the  taper 
burn  down  till  the  flame  seemed  to  stand  upon  his 
thumb ;  and  she  marked  him  lower  his  hold  of  HV 
so  that  he  held  the  dwindling  wax  between  the  nails 
350 


KYN'S  WAY  35 l 

of  his  thumb  and  forefinger.  She  saw  him  kneel  to 
the  ground,  and  grope  there ;  saw  him  rise  up,  and 
stretch  his  agitated  hand  to  the  top  of  the  door. 
Every  swift  movement  of  those  nervous  fingers  she 
saw  and  marked,  but  without  knowing  why  he  did 
them,  or  why  she  should  be  standing  there  watching 
him. 

He  turned  suddenly  round  and  faced  her.  "What 
devil's  trick  is  this?"  he  cried  fiercely,  the  sweat 
running  from  his  brows  and  streaming  down  his 
cheeks.  "When  will  he  come  back?  Why  has  he 
locked  us  in  here  ?" 

She  looked,  but  made  no  answer.  What  were 
these  questions  he  asked  her?  Who  had  locked 
them  in?  And  where  were  they  locked  in? 

"Speak,  damn  you,  speak !"  he  cried,  coming  to- 
wards her.  The  taper  fell  to  the  ground,  and  left 
them  in  darkness.  "Answer  me,"  he  cried;  "why 
are  we  locked  in  here  ?  When  will  he  come  back  ?" 

Still  no  answer. 

"I'll  kill  you !"  he  burst  out  fiercely.  "Find  your 
tongue,  devil,  or  I'll  strangle  you." 

A  flash  of  lightning  shot  through  the  narrow 
loop-hole  high  in  the  vaulted  chamber,  and,  realiz- 
ing that  she  was  threatened,  and  seeing  at  that  mo- 
ment the  archway  leading  to  the  tunnel,  she  sprang 
to  it,  eluded  his  grasp,  and  ran  on  before  him, 
striking  her  hands,  and  sometimes  her  shoulders, 
against  the  narrow  walls  as  she  raced  into  the  dark- 
ness. 

At  last  she  paused,  and  stood  listening.     The 


352  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

darkness  frightened  her,  the  close  atmosphere 
stifled  her.  She  could  not  tell  where  this  passage 
led,  or  what  pitfalls  might  be  yawning  before  her 
in  the  heavy  blackness.  The  atmosphere  was  that 
of  a  tomb;  there  was  an  unearthly  dampness,  a 
mysterious  heaviness  there  that  had  some  appalling 
effect  upon  her  nerves.  The  smell  of  brick-dust 
entered  her  nostrils  and  her  throat,  drying  up  her 
mouth,  and  leaving  her  there  gasping,  even  fight- 
ing for  breath. 

While  she  waited  and  looked  back  a  tiny  light 
suddenly  jumped  out  of  the  darkness,  and  she  saw 
that  Oliver  Bolt  had  struck  a  match  and  was  care- 
fully feeling  his  way  through  the  tunnel.  She  went 
down  on  her  hands  and  knees  and  crawled  forward. 
The  darkness  seemed  to  deepen  in  its  impenetra- 
bility, the  atmosphere  to  increase  in  its  terrible  sic- 
city.  She  gasped  for  breath,  the  tears  of  suffoca- 
tion in  her  eyes ;  but,  fearful  of  the  danger  behind, 
she  went  steadily  on  groping  her  way  over  the  dank, 
rough  floor,  straining  her  eyes  for  some  glimmer  of 
light  in  the  distance. 

Then  he  called  to  her ;  at  first  quietly,  afterwards 
loudly,  fiercely,  threateningly.  The  tones  of  his 
voice  brought  back  sudden  remembrance.  The 
scene  in  the  boudoir  flashed  across  her  mind:  the 
appearance  of  the  earl :  the  sudden  disappearance  of 
the  listening  housekeeper:  the  smothered  cry  and 
struggle  in  the  corridor:  the  journey  behind  the 
earl  down  the  long  gallery  with  this  man  behind 
her :  the  open  door :  the  stone  apartment :  the  taper 


KYN'S  WAY  353 

hurled  towards  them :  the  shout  of  "Kyn's  Way !" : 
the  clang  of  the  door. 

She  began  to  realize  what  had  happened.  This 
man  creeping  after  her  through  the  darkness,  call- 
ing to  her,  shrieking  to  her,  threatening  her  with 
death,  had  plotted  to  ruin  her  by  precisely  the  same 
means  as  those  by  which  the  earl's  first  wife  had 
been  irretrievably  ruined.  He  knew  nothing  of  the 
poison.  Fool,  fool!  it  was  her  own  guilty  con- 
science had  betrayed  her.  Why  had  she  not  acted 
better?  Why  had  she  not  screamed  for  help,  rung 
the  bell,  shattered  the  windows — done  anything  to 
prove  to  those  about  the  castle  that  she  was  in  dis- 
tress ?  She  reproached  herself  bitterly,  and  crawled 
forward  swiftly. 

She  reached  a  dead  wall;  her  heart  failed  her 
with  terror.  She  passed  her  trembling  hands  over 
it,  but  could  find  no  door,  no  outlet.  At  last  she 
discovered  on  her  left  a  blank,  then  a  step,  leading 
down  somewhere.  Rising  to  her  feet,  she  descended 
— feeling  her  way  carefully  as  she  went.  Seven 
steps,  and  then  a  sharp  turning  to  the  right,  and 
once  more  there  was  a  little  stone  chamber  with  a 
slit  high  up  in  the  stone,  an  archway  in  front  con- 
ducting on  to  a  continuation  of  the  tunnel. 

Here  there  was  air,  blessed  cooling  air,  and  she 
drew  it  gratefully  to  her  lungs.  The  chamber,  too, 
was  lighter  than  the  other,  although  it  was  only 
indistinctly  that  she  could  see  the  archway.  She 
ran  back  to  the  bottom  of  the  steps  and  listened. 
There  was  no  sound.  She  reclimbed  them  and 


354  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

peered  down  the  tunnel ;  there  was  no  sign  of  a 
light.  He  had  gone  back,  back  to  that  locked  door, 
to  hammer  for  help,  to  search  again  for  means  of 
escape.  She  drew  a  breath,  and  leaned  against  the 
wall.  The  minutes  dragged  by ;  an  hour  passed  as 
she  stood  there — to  her  it  seemed  a  year. 

Could  it  be  possible,  she  asked  herself,  that  the 
earl  had  locked  them  in  this  dreadful  place,  mean- 
ing them  to  die  there?  No  one  had  seen  him  lead 
them  to  the  door;  no  one  had  seen  him  close  it. 
He  could  say  they  had  left  the  castle  together.  He 
could  prevent  search  being  made  in  Kyn's  Way 
till  they  were  both  dead.  The  sweat  broke  out 
upon  her  brow,  and  the  tears  sprang  into  her  eyes. 

Lightning  shot  through  the  narrow  loophole,  and 
lit  up  for  a  single  instant  the  massive  stone  walls, 
the  broken  and  uneven  stone  floor,  the  tunnel  lead- 
ing onwards  round  the  castle.  Then  the  mighty 
answer  of  the  sky  rolled  itself  out  across  the 
heavens  and  filled  her  terrified  mind  with  its  awful 
echoings.  She  listened  spell-bound,  and  then,  as 
the  last  murmur  rolled  distantly  away,  a  yell  broke 
upon  her  ear — a  fierce,  wild,  maniacal  yell — the  yell 
of  a  man  bereft  of  his  reason.  And  after  that  she 
heard  the  sound  of  feet  in  the  tunnel,  and  knew  that 
her  pursuer  had  renewed  his  chase. 

She  sprang  to  the  archway,  in  her  panic  discard- 
ing all  precautions  against  being  dashed  to  pieces, 
and  ran  with  the  winged  feet  of  terror  forward  into 
the  black  darkness  of  the  mysterious  tunnel.  His 
yell  pursued  her,  echoing  along  the  walls  as  if  a 


KYN'S  WAY  355 

hundred  fiends  were  chasing  a  lost  soul  to  hell; 
echoing  high  above  her  head,  in  her  ears,  under  her 
feet — now  wild  and  defiant,  now  mocking,  now  in 
the  wailing  accents  of  despair.  She  went  on,  with 
arms  outstretched  before  her,  panting  through  the 
arid  air,  choking,  gasping,  groaning  in  her  agony. 
On  and  on,  with  that  horrid  yell  pursuing  her,  till 
she  reached  another  dead  wall,  another  flight  of 
steps  leading  down  on  the  left  hand.  With  no  care 
of  any  kind  she  sprang  to  the  bottom,  fell  upon  the 
stone  floor,  and  lay  there  stunned  and  motionless. 
Put  even  in  those  brief  moments  of  unconscious- 
ness the  cry  of  her  pursuer  was  in  her  ears,  and 
when  she  roused  her  faculties,  and  staggered  to 
her  feet,  it  was  close — fearfully  close — it  seemed, 
indeed,  to  her  distorted  fancy  that  she  could  have 
put  out  her  hand  and  touched  it. 

She  moved  forward  again,  groped  her  way  into 
another  stone  chamber,  stood  before  the  archway 
with  heaving  bosom  and  gasping  lips,  and  looked 
back  to  the  darkened  stairs  on  which  the  light  from 
the  narrow  aperture  in  the  walls  shed  the  gray  light 
of  gloom. 

Her  limbs  ached;  one  of  her  feet  was  burning1 
as  if  a  fire  glowed  there,  and  so  great  was  her  an- 
guish that,  in  despite  of  the  danger  incurred  by 
waiting,  the  countess  leaned  against  the  wall  of  the 
darkened  tunnel  and  looked  steadfastly  at  the 
gloomy  stairs. 

The  cry  drew  nearer;  it  was  the  cry  of  a  mad- 
man— fierce,  soulless,  meaningless,  and  yet  charged 


356  THE   FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

with  some  awful  passion  of  the  mind,  inspired  by 
some  inconceivable  thought.  A  violent  shudder 
shook  the  frame  of  Hannah ;  still  she  leaned  nerve- 
less against  the  wall,  and  looked  at  the  stairs.  Light- 
ning flashed  into  the  chamber  that  must  have  re- 
vealed her  standing  there  had  Bolt  appeared  in  the 
chamber  at  that  moment.  Thunder  drowned  the 
cry,  crushed  it  into  silence  under  the  force  of  its 
terrific  anger;  but  as  it  rolled  away,  the  cry  arose 
again — louder,  fiercer,  nearer — and  then,  of  a  sud- 
den, he  dashed  into  the  chamber,  stumbling  down 
the  stairs  and  standing  there  in  the  center  of  the 
apartment — his  hair  disheveled,  his  face  white  as 
death — gasping  like  one  terrified  and  rolling  his 
eyes  in  a  manner  indescribably  horrible. 

The  shock  of  this  revolting  vision  overcame  Han- 
nah's weariness.  She  turned  and,  with  a  cry  of 
alarm,  fled  for  her  life.  The  sound  of  her  voice  so 
near  maddened  him ;  he  sprang  to  the  archway,  and 
rushed  headlong  into  its  swallowing  darkness. 

She  heard  his  cry  close  behind  her;  she  could 
hear  the  noise  of  his  feet  on  the  stones,  even  his 
hard  stertorous  breathing. 

It  was  too  late  now.  She  staggered,  and  then 
swayed  to  the  left.  But  instead  of  meeting  the 
walls,  where  she  had  desperately  hoped  to  squeeze 
herself  while  he  flashed  past,  she  found  herself  mov- 
ing, or  rather  stumbling,  onwards  down  another 
gallery — a  gallery  wider  than  the  other,  and,  if 
there  be  comparative  blackness,  blacker  too.  On 
she  went,  stumbling  and  half  falling,  till  her  body 


KYX'S  WAY  35* 

could  bear  it  no  longer.  She  sank  down  upon  the 
floor,  swayed  herself  with  a  groan  close  to  the  wall, 
and  as  the  echo  of  his  maniacal  yell  died  upon  her 
ears,  fell  into  merciful  unconsciousness. 

Night  had  long  descended  upon  the  castle  when 
Hannah  awoke  from  her  swoon  and  opened  her 
eyes  to  stare  dreamfully  upon  the  circumambient 
darkness.  At  first  she  could  not  recall  the  terrible 
scenes  she  had  passed  through,  and  imagined  that 
she  had  awoke  in  her  bed  in  the  midst  of  the  night. 
A  soft  wailing  cry  stole  to  her  ears,  and  she  sat  up 
quickly,  imagining  that  it  was  her  child  calling  to 
her. 

At  that  moment  memory  returned.  She  shivered, 
and  clasped  her  hands  together,  straining  forward 
to  catch  the  notes  of  that  sad,  wailing  cry.  There 
was  no  madness  now,  no  threat,  no  fury.  It  was  a 
pathetic  sobbing  sound — the  whimpering  cry  of  a 
child  unable  to  sleep. 

She  crawled  slowly  back  down  the  gallery,  turned 
into  what  she  considered  the  main  tunnel,  and  re- 
mained there  listening.  The  cry  was  on  her  right, 
and  she  went  on  till  she  could  just  descry  in  the 
darkness  ahead  the  grayness  that  denoted  the  stone 
chamber  with  its  narrow  loophole. 

Very  silently,  very  slowly,  she  continued  her  pain- 
ful progress,  till  at  last  she  could  see  into  the  room. 
There,  on  the  center  of  the  floor,  kneeling  as  if  in 
prayer,  was  Oliver  Bolt,  his  ghastly  face  upturned 
to  the  narrow  window  high  up  in  the  wall.  His 
hands  were  clasped  in  front  of  him,  and  worked 


358  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

backwards  and  forwards — from  his  chin  down- 
wards. His  eyes  were  filled  with  tears ;  his  lips 
were  trembling. 

"Come  back,"  he  wailed,  "come  back!  I  won't 
hurt  you.  I  want  you  to  speak.  I  want  to  hear 
your  voice.  I  will  be  very  kind.  Oh !  come  back, 
come  back!" 

He  repeated  those  words  in  a  slow,  monotonous 
wail;  the  hands  rocking  to  and  fro,  his  face  kept 
immovably  to  the  narrow  embrasure,  through 
which  flittered  the  gray-blue  light  of  a  cloudless 
night. 

She  was  fascinated  by  the  sight,  and  could  not 
remove  her  eyes  from  the  terrible  spectacle.  The 
minutes  went  by,  the  light  lost  its  blackness,  and 
gradually  the  beams  of  the  eastern  sun  mingled  in 
that  shaft  of  light,  and  illuminated  the  circular  cell 
with  the  freshness  of  morning. 

But  instead  of  bringing  hope  to  the  man  kneel- 
ing there,  this  soft,  warm  light  seemed  to  rob  him 
of  the  last  vestige  of  control.  He  burst  into  tears, 
clasped  his  hands  over  his  eyes,  and  fell  forward  on 
the  floor,  sobbing  as  if  his  heart  were  broken. 

Hannah  looked  on  unmoved.  She  could  see  the 
heaving  of  his  broad  shoulders,  and  could  hear  the 
muttered  prayers  that  slipped  from  his  sobbing  lips. 
She  lay  upon  the  ground  watching  him,  her  eyes 
tearless,  her  self-possession  unshaken  by  his  utter 
collapse. 

She  began  to  think  of  the  future.  How  should 
she  explain  his  presence  in  her  room  when  the  earl 


KYX'S  WAY  359 

returned?  Fool  that  she  had  been,  to  meet  the 
earl  with  guilt  on  her  face,  to  be  caught  there  like 
a  bird  in  a  net — dumb  and  unnerved !  Oh,  to  get 
that  hour  back!  How  differently  she  would  act. 
She  began  to  play  the  scene  in  her  imagination. 
Her  loud  cries  for  help,  her  struggle  with  Bolt,  her 
efforts  to  drag  his  smothering  hand  from  her 
mouth.  She  set  her  teeth,  imagining  that  she  was 
biting  his  flesh,  then  she  heard  his  cry  of  pain ;  she 
rushed  past  him,  reached  the  bell,  rang  it  violently, 
and  cried  again  to  her  husband.  Oh,  how  easy  it 
seemed !  Oh,  what  a  fool  she  had  been ! 

But  what  should  she  say  when  the  earl  came  to 
release  her?  Nothing  on  earth  could  remove  from 
his  mind  the  impression  left  there  by  her  guilt- 
stricken  face,  her  dumbness  under  his  fierce  ques- 
tioning. She  must  invent  something;  she  must 
think.  And  so  while  Oliver  Bolt  lay  on  his  face  in 
the  circular  stone  room,  with  the  light  of  morning 
streaming  down  upon  him,  his  sobs  growing  fainter 
and  fainter, — she,  lying  in  the  darkness  of  the  tun- 
nel, her  body  racked  with  pain,  acted  the  great 
scene  of  reconciliation.  She  pictured  herself  at  the 
earl's  feet,  pleading  to  his  generous  heart,  vowing 
her  innocence,  demanding  the  investigation  of  Oli- 
ver Bolt's  action.  She  went  through  all  the  speeches, 
placed  answers  in  the  mouth  of  the  earl,  and  ended 
it  all  with  the  complete  vindication  of  her  honor,  a 
triumphant  return  to  the  old  happy  life. 

But  suddenly  it  struck  her  that  the  earl  might 
never  come  there,  that  she  might  be  left  alone  with 


360  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

this  madman  till  she  too  lost  reason,  or  life.  The 
thought  renewed  her  torture.  She  knew  the  jeal- 
ousy of  her  husband,  knew  that  his  mind  was  cap- 
able of  terrible  things.  He  was  different  from  ordi- 
nary men,  and  he  nursed  revenge,  loved  to  inflict 
torture  on  those  who  wronged  him.  He  would 
never  come  to  let  them  out. 

Perhaps  he  had  killed  himself !  God !  perhaps 
he  had  killed  himself,  and  none  knew  that  she  was 
buried  alive  in  these  walls ! 

She  rose  from  the  ground,  stood  upon  her  feet, 
and  then  swept  swiftly  towards  the  chamber.  She 
went  to  the  prostrate  form  of  Oliver  Bolt,  knelt 
down,  and  shook  him.  He  was  asleep.  She  shook 
him  again,  fiercely,  wildly,  and  called  to  him  to 
wake.  Again  and  again,  with  animal  ferocity,  she 
shook  the  sleeping  man,  till  at  last  he  opened  his 
eyes  and  looked  at  her. 

"I  have  something  to  say,"  she  cried;  "listen!" 

He  sat  up,  and  stared  at  her  with  moody  eyes. 

"Do  you  want  to  die  here,  to  live  in  these  walls 
till  you  die  of  starvation  ?"  she  demanded. 

"Why  not?"  he  replied. 

"Don't  you  want  to  live,  to  regain  the  fresh  air, 
the  light — your  freedom  ?" 

"Can  it  be  done?" 

"Supposing  the  earl  has  killed  himself  and  no  one 
knows  we  are  here !"  she  said  breathlessly. 

"I  thought  of  that  last  night.  It  is  most  prob- 
able." 

"And  you  lie  here  doing  nothing!     We  must 


KYN'S  WAY  361 

rouse  them.  We  must  make  them  hear  us.  Get  up 
and  help  me !  Quick !  quick !  every  moment  must 
be  saved." 

"I  made  enough  noise  last  night  to  rouse  the 
dead.  The  living  will  never  hear  us.  Shriek  your 
loudest  and  it  will  sound  to  the  gardeners  below 
like  the  feeble  chirp  of  a  bird.  This  is  our  tomb. 
Go  to  sleep,  and  let  the  world  pass  by  us.  You  are 
buried  alive.  Behave  like  a  decent  corpse,  do." 

"You  are  coward  as  well  as  villain !"  she  retorted, 
rising  to  her  feet. 

"I  am  wiser  than  you,  that  is  all.  If  you  have 
plans  for  rousing  the  castle  set  about  them  at  once, 
only  let  me  sleep.  I  am  hungry,  and  I  want  to  for- 
get that  fact." 

"We  shall  die  of  starvation !"  she  wailed. 

"Or  of  cold,"  he  replied,  shivering. 

"I  will  dash  my  head  against  these  walls  rather 
than  that !"  she  cried  fiercely. 

"Even  that  will  be  unheard  in  the  castle.  Why 
not  try  and  die  quietly?" 

He  spoke  as  a  sleepy  man  answers  a  summons  to 
awake,  drowsily,  with  protestation. 

"You  have  brought  me  to  this,"  she  hissed. 

"And  myself,  egotist,"  he  answered  with  a  yawn. 

"Coward,  villain!"  she  cried;  "get  up  and  help 
me !  You  shall  not  lie  there,  like  a  dog.  Get  up, 
I  say,  get  up,  and  come  with  me  to  the  door !" 

"The  sun  warms  me  here,"  he  answered.  "I 
have  done  enough  tunneling  to  suffice  till  I  die. 
No,  I  shall  die  here,  not  at  the  door." 


362  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

He  exasperated  her  beyond  her  powers  of  en- 
durance. She  struck  him  in  the  mouth  with  her 
foot. 

Instantly  he  was  on  his  feet,  his  hand  at  her 
throat,  and  had  driven  her  back  against  the  wall. 

"You  devil !"  he  cried,  the  blood  flowing  from 
his  mouth  to  his  chin.  "I  will  kill  you  for  that !" 

"Kill  me !"  she  gasped.  "Squeeze  harder !  throt- 
tle me!" 

But  he  struck  her  across  the  face,  a  numbing 
blow,  and  released  her.  They  stood  facing  each 
other.  The  woman's  face  white,  save  where  the 
mark  of  his  hand  burned  on  her  cheek ;  the  man's, 
white  save  where  the  blood  trickled  slowly  down  his 
chin. 

Then  she  began  to  weep.  "Save  me!  oh,  save 
me !"  she  cried ;  "I  want  to  live.  I  want  to  get  back 
to  the  world." 

"You  will  never  get  back,"  he  answered.  "Your 
husband  is  dead ;  they  are  concerned  with  him ;  no 
one  gives  you  a  thought.  You  must  die.  Nothing 
can  alter  it." 

"I  will  not  die!"  she  cried;  "I  tell  you  I  will  not 
die.  I  will  pull  these  stones  down " 

"With  a  hair-pin!"  he  snarled.  "Set  about  it 
now1 — only  in  some  other  part  of  our  tomb.  I  ob- 
ject to  being  buried  with  such  a  rebellious  corpse. 
Why  can't  you  lie  quiet  like  the  rest  of  us  ?" 

But  she  turned  away,  and  hurried  with  tears  and 
groans  through  the  black  tunnel  towards  the  first 
stone  chamber  and  the  heavy,  steel-covered  door. 


XXVII 

KYN  COMES  TO  THE  RESCUE 

SIR  MICHAEL  DULVERTON  was  in  a  testy 
mood.  The  post-bag  had  brought  him  further 
evidence  of  the  hopelessness  of  all  his  efforts  to  re- 
unite the  political  party  in  whose  principles  he  had 
been  bred,  and  in  whose  mission  he  had  absolute 
and  unwavering  faith.  The  members  of  the  party 
were  at  loggerheads,  leaders  were  weighing  every 
word  and  waiting  for  the  wind  to  blow,  while  he 
himself — implored  by  the  most  influential  section 
to  play  a  more  prominent  part — could  not,  owing  to 
that  one  stain  on  his  honor,  ever  lead  his  party  in 
the  vigorous  onslaught  that  could  alone  unite  them 
in  one  common  purpose. 

Sir  Michael  was  testy.  He  talked  bitterly  of  his 
political  friends  at  breakfast,  ridiculed  the  leaders, 
laughed  with  the  enemy,  and  finally  concluded  with 
the  assertion  that  he  would  forsake  St.  Stephen's, 
and,  like  another  famous  member  of  his  party,  cul- 
tivate his  own  fireside.  Then,  to  crown  all,  he 
quoted  the  triumphant  "Last  Word"  of  Matthew 
Arnold : — 

"They  out-talked  thee,  hissed  thee,  tore  thee, 
Better  men  fared  thus  before  thee, 
Fired  their  ringing  shot  and  passed, 
Hotly  charged,  and  sank  at  last 
363 


364  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

"Charge  once  more,  then,  and  be  dumb, 
Let  the  victors  when  they  come, 
When  the  forts  of  folly  fall, 
Find  thy  body  by  the  wall." 

He  laughed,  kissed  his  mother,  told  her  to  take  no 
notice  of  his  nonsense,  and  with  a  word  to  Escott 
went  out  of  the  room. 

He  went  to  the  stable,  where  a  groom,  with  his 
head  under  the  flap,  was  tightening  the  girths  of  his 
horse's  saddle.  When  the  operation  was  finished 
and  the  groom's  hand  had  been  passed  over  the 
horse's  quarters  and  down  the  legs — so  that  no 
fragment  of  straw  or  speck  of  dust  should  spoil  his 
master's  appearance — Dulverton  "clombe  to  the 
saddle,"  steered  his  horse  out  of  the  yard,  and 
trotted  off  to  shake  all  the  cobwebs  out  of  his  mind 
in  a  rattling  gallop. 

It  was  after  he  had  reached  the  long,  green  lane, 
where  the  tenderest-footed  horse  in  the  world  may 
canter  for  three  miles  without  a  twinge  of  pain, 
that  Dulverton  turned  his  horse's  head  towards 
home,  and  walked  it  slowly  towards  the  hamlet  of 
Kyn.  He  looked  at  the  church  tower,  at  the  red 
chimneys  of  the  rectory,  dimly  discerned  through 
the  umbrageous  trees,  and  began  to  think  of  Es- 
cott and  Beatrice  Haddon.  He  could  not  help 
envying  the  youth  who  now  had  the  world  at  his 
feet,  who  had  drawn  back  from  the  follies  and  vices 
of  youth  in  time  to  win  a  pure  woman's  affection, 
and  whose  ambitions  were  now  so  high  and  true 
that  his  future  could  not  but  contribute  to  the  great 
moral  evolution  of  the  race. 


KYN   COMES  TO  THE  RESCUE  365 

He  was  thinking  of  Escott's  bright  horizon,  of 
his  own  sun  that  had  sunk  so  suddenly  into  shadow, 
when  he  noticed  Timothy  Budge  standing  under 
the  copper-beech  outside  the  "Cripple's  Ease,"  with 
the  white  stem  of  his  churchwarden  pipe  held  up  as 
a  signal  for  conversation. 

"Well,  Timothy,"  said  Dulverton,  coming  to  a 
standstill,  and  looking  down  with  a  smile  at  the  jolly 
old  red  face  of  mine  host.  "Well,  Timothy,  what 
is  it?  How  wags  your  world,  friend,  and  how,  in 
particular,  is  the  worthy  landlord  of  the  'Cripple's 
Ease'?" 

"You'll  pardon  me  stopping  of  you,"  murmured 
Timothy  in  a  voice  of  great  mystery,  brushing  aside 
as  too  trivial  Sir  Michael's  courtesy;  "but  things  has 
happened  most  peculiar — most  peculiar!"  He 
stood  at  the  horse's  shoulder,  one  hand  stroking 
slowly  and  back-handedly  the  glossy  coat,  the 
other  holding  the  stem  of  his  churchwarden  pipe 
near  enough  to  his  face  to  permit  of  an  occasional 
scratch  of  the  nose  with  its  red  wax  tip. 

"You  must  know,  Sir  Michael,  I've  had  a  gentle- 
man stopping  along  of  me,"  he  continued,  in  the 
same  husky  whisper ;  "a  gentleman  what  was  werry 
friendly  with  the  late  countess,  and  often  enough 
seen  about  these  parts.  Well,  sir,  yesterday  morn- 
ing, just  before  lunch,  this  Mr.  Bolt  he  goes  out, 
saying  he'll  be  home  to  tea.  He  didn't  come  back 
to  tea,  Sir  Michael.  But  soon  after  tea-time  in 
comes  the  housekeeper  from  the  castle,  all  through 
the  thunder  and  lightning,  and  asks  if  he  has  re- 


366  THE    FALL   OF   THE    CURTAIN 

turned.  'Why,'  says  I,  'what  do  you  want  to  know 
for,  Mrs.  Whittle? — meaning  no  disrespect.'  The 
earl  wants  to  know,'  she  said  sharply.  'Well,  then,' 
quoth  I,  'he  hasn't  come  back ;  you  may  tell  his 
lordship  that  on  my  authority.'  'Will  you  arrange,' 
she  says,  'to  let  me  know  immediately  Mr.  Bolt  re- 
turns?' I  hummed  and  hawed,  as  the  saying  is, 
and  said  I  would  see  if  it  could  be  done  without 
inconvenience.  Lord,  Sir  Michael,  you  should 
have  seen  the  old  cat's  face !  Off  she  goes,  but  pres- 
ently comes  back  again.  'I  want  your  fly,'  she  said ; 
'I'm  goin'  to  drive  to  the  station.'  'You  can  have 
it,  mum,'  I  says,  'though  it's  bad  weather  for 
horses,  and  coachmen  too !'  I  tried  to  draw  her 
while  the  horse  was  being  put-to,  and  so  did  my 
missus,  but  she  kept  mum.  All  she  would  say  was 
just  that  she  had  a  most  important  message  for 
Mr.  Bolt,  and  that  if  he  came  back  while  she  was 
out,  why  we  was  to  beg  him  to  remain  till  she  re- 
turned." 

Old  Timothy  paused,  and  for  a  change  put  the 
stem  of  his  pipe  into  his  mouth.  He  puffed  at  it 
with  serious,  down-drawn  lips  for  a  minute,  and 
then  continued:  "But  just  before  going,  Sir 
Michael,  she  turned  round  to  me,  and  says,  'I  sup- 
pose you  haven't  seen  her  ladyship  go  by  this  after- 
noon?' 'Well,  mum,'  I  answers,  'I've  seen  nothing 
all  this  blessed  afternoon  but  lightning,  and  I 
don't  suppose  her  ladyship  was  taking  a  promen- 
ade to  look  at  that.'  Fancy  that,  now !  Her  lady- 
ship out  in  such  a  storm  as  we  had  yesterday!'* 


KYN   COMES  TO  THE  RESCUE 

"Tell  me  the  end  of  your  story,  Budge,"  said  Sir 
Michael,  listening  intently. 

"The  end,  Sir  Michael,  came  this  morning.  My 
son  William  comes  down  here — he's  walet  to  the 
earl — and  he  knocks  me  all  of  a  heap  on  that  there 
bench  by  saying,  sudden-like,  'The  countess  is 
missing;  she's  run  away!'  Lord  A'mighty,  sir!  it 
nearly  killed  me.  Then  he  goes  on  to  say  as  the 
earl  was  locked  up  in  his  room,  growling  and 
cursing,  and  wouldn't  let  no  one  come  near  him." 

"You  are  sure  of  this  story?"  Dulverton  de- 
manded. 

"Well,  sir,  my  son  William  is  a  bit  of  a  fool,  true 
enough;  but  I  don't  remember  him  ever  being 
much  of  a  hand  at  lying.  And  then,  you  see,  there 
was  Mrs.  Whittle  a-galloping  about  in  thunder  and 
lightning  all  yesterday  afternoon,  and  behaving  of 
herself  more  like  a  water-rat  than  a  two-legged 
baptized  human  being." 

"And  Mr.  Bolt?"  interrupted  Dulverton.  "Has 
he  returned  ?" 

"That's  the  whole  point  of  the  story,"  said  Tim- 
othy, straightening  himself  up.  "He  aren't,  sir ;  he 
aren't !  That's  the  point." 

"I  must  go  to  the  castle,"  Dulverton  said  shortly. 
"In  the  meantime,  Budge,  keep  this  story  quiet.  It 
may  be  false.  Keep  it  quiet." 

He  drew  his  horse  into  the  road,  trotted  briskly 
to  the  castle  gates,  and  once  inside  the  drive  got 
upon  the  turf  under  the  trees  and  galloped,  as  hard 
as  his  horse  could  go,  to  the  castle. 


THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

At  the  door  the  footman  told  him  that  Lord 
Mane  would  see  no  one.  He  asked  for  Mrs.  Mer- 
sey. That  good  lady  was  not  expected  till  the  after- 
noon. He  asked  for  Lord  Kyn.  His  lordship  was 
ill. 

"111!"  cried  Dulverton;  "seriously  ill?" 

"I  think  so,  sir,"  the  man  answered.  "His  lord- 
ship has  not  come  downstairs  this  morning." 

"Has  the  doctor  been  sent  for?" 

"No,  sir.  Mrs.  Whittle  is  nursing  his  lordship  in 
her  room." 

"I  must  see  her,"  cried  Dulverton. 

"She  is  out,  sir." 

"Then,"  said  Dulverton,  "I  must  see  Lord  Kyn. 
jRing  for  some  one  to  take  my  horse." 

In  another  minute  Michael  was  following  the 
footman  upstairs  to  the  housekeeper's  room.  His 
mind  was  filled  with  vague  apprehension;  some- 
thing of  a  terrible  nature  had  happened,  and  not 
the  least  serious  aspect  of  the  mystery  to  his  mind 
was  this  sudden  unattended  illness  of  his  poor  little 
godson. 

Thinking  that  the  boy  might  be  sleeping,  he 
turned  the  handle  of  the  door  gently,  but,  to  his 
horror,  it  was  locked.  He  turned  round,  and  faced 
the  footman.  "What  on  earth  does  this  mean  ?"  he 
asked.  The  man  could  not  say;  he  was  as  much 
surprised  as  Sir  Michael. 

Dulverton  rapped  on  the  door,  and  called  to  the 
boy.  "Are  you  here,  Kyn?"  he  cried  cheerfully, 
"It's  I,  Michael!" 


KYN  COMES   TO  THE  RESCUE  369 

A  low,  whimpering  sound  answered  them. 

"Can  you  hear  me,  dear  child  ?"  cried  Dulverton. 
"I'm  coming  to  see  you,  but  the  door's  locked.  Can 
you  hear  me?" 

Again  that  low,  whimpering  sound,  only  nearer. 
The  two  men  listened,  and  presently  they  saw  the 
handle  slightly  turned,  and  heard  the  child  whim- 
pering. "Take  me  away!"  he  cried;  "take  me 
away !  Oh,  do  take  me  away !" 

"Stand  back!  dear  child,"  shouted  Dulverton; 
"I'm  going  to  burst  the  door  open.  The  key  is  lost. 
Stand  well  away,  and  don't  be  frightened." 

He  went  to  the  other  side  of  the  corridor,  sprang 
forward,  and  hurled  himself  sideways  with  terrific 
force  against  the  door.  It  groaned,  cracked,  and 
shook,  but  the  lock  held.  He  went  back  again,  the 
footman  looking  on  with  white  face  and  staring 
eyes,  and  once  again,  with  stern,  set  face,  threw 
his  great  weight  against  the  door.  But  the  result 
was  the  same. 

"Bring  me  an  iron  bar,"  he  cried  sharply;  "any- 
thing will  do.  A  bar  of  some  kind — a  bed-support, 
a  window-bar ;  anything,  only  quick !" 

The  man  hurried  away,  and  Dulverton  called 
again  to  the  child,  promising  him  instant  succor. 
He  talked  cheerfully,  promised  him  a  long  talk,  and 
told  of  all  the  adventures  he  had  to  relate  when  the 
horrid  door  was  broken.  The  only  answer  to  all 
his  encouragement  was  that  same  low  whimper, 
and  now  and  then  the  shuddering  wail,  "Oh,  please 
take  me  away ;  I  am  so  frightened." 


THE   FALL   OF  THE  CURTAIN 

In  a  few  minutes  the  man  was  back  with  a  stout 
iron  bar,  and  Dulverton  once  more  bade  Kyn  stand 
clear  of  the  door,  and  not  be  frightened,  for  he  was 
going  to  smash  it  down. 

He  lifted  the  bar  and  struck  at  the  lock  with  all 
his  strength ;  again,  again,  again.  It  seemed  to 
yield,  but  still  remained  closed.  Passing  the  bar 
to  the  man,  Dulverton  once  more  stepped  to  the 
farther  side  of  the  corridor,  sprang  fiercely  forward, 
and  dashed  all  his  weight  against  the  door.  This 
time  the  weakened  lock  yielded ;  the  door  went  in- 
wards, and  Dulverton  was  precipitated  into  the  cen- 
ter of  the  room. 

The  sight  that  met  his  eyes  melted  all  his  heart 
to  tears.  Little  Kyn,  teaching  the  sheets,  in  Shake- 
speare's phrase,  a  whiter  hue  than  white,  sat  hud- 
dled upon  the  bed,  shaking  like  a  man  smitten  with 
palsy,  his  teeth  chattering,  his  eyes  staring  fearfully 
out  of  their  sockets,  his  poor,  ruffled,  red  hair  add- 
ing to  his  expression  of  absolute  terror. 

Dulverton  went  quickly  to  his  side,  held  him 
tightly  and  endearingly  in  his  arms,  and  begged 
him  to  have  no  fear.  He  then  despatched  the  ser- 
vant for  brandy,  and  wrapping  Kyn  in  a  quilt, 
walked  to  and  fro  in  the  room,  soothing  him,  and 
kissing  the  white,  cold  face,  the  poor,  blue  lips — as 
tenderly  as  a  mother. 

"Has  she  gone?"  the  child  gasped. 

"Mrs.  Whittle  ?  Yes,  you  shall  not  stay  with  her 
any  more." 


KYN  COMES   TO  THE  RESCUE  371 

The  boy  nestled  closer  to  his  side.  "Oh,  she  was 
so  cruel,  so  cruel!"  he  sobbed. 

Dulverton  soothed  him.  ''Tell  me  why,  dear- 
est?" he  asked  gently. 

"I  wanted  to  save  my  mother.  That  bad  man, 
Mr.  Bolt — you  know.  He  had  stolen  into  her 
room,  and  Mrs.  Whittle  knew.  I  saw  her  talking 
to  him.  And  she  caught  me,  and  carried  me  here. 
She  frightened  me.  Oh,  she  made  me  so  frightened. 
I  promised  I  would  not  tell.  She  made  me  promise. 
But  I  must  tell  you,  mustn't  I  ?" 

The  man  returned  with  the  brandy.  Dulverton 
coaxed  the  child  into  swallowing  a  teaspoonful, 
and  then,  wrapped  in  the  quilt,  bore  him  in  his  arms 
downstairs. 

He  asked  the  footman  if  Lord  Mane  was  in  his 
own  little  room  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  and  receiving 
an  answer  in  the  affirmative,  went  hurriedly  for- 
ward in  that  direction. 

He  listened  for  a  moment  at  the  door,  but  noth- 
ing could  be  heard.  Then  he  rapped  gently.  The 
voice  of  the  earl,  but  high  and  weak,  reached  his 
ear :  "Go  to  the  devil,  I  tell  you !  Damme,  how 
many  more  times  ?  Go  to  the  devil !" 

Dulverton  called  through  the  door:  "It  is  I, 
Lord  Mane — Michael  Dulverton.  I  must  see  you. 
Please  open  the  door." 

"Dulverton?"  said  the  earl.  "Why,  you  don't 
mean  you're  old  Tom  Dulverton  of  Slee-Marly  ?" 

Sir  Michael  trembled.  The  earl  was  speaking  of 
his  father  who  had  been  dead  for  nearly  fifteen 
years. 


372  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

"No,"  he  called  back,  "it  is  his  son,  Michael 
Dulverton." 

"What!  not  little  Michael?  Come  in,  my  boy, 
come  in!  Yes,  I'll  open  to  you,  fast  enough." 

The  key  turned  in  the  lock,  the  door  opened,  and 
there  stood  the  earl  before  him — a  decrepit,  im- 
becile old  man.  His  face  was  gray,  his  hair  was 
disheveled,  his  eyes  bloodshot.  But  the  most  ap- 
palling feature  in  his  appearance  was  his  mouth; 
for  the  lips  were  parted  in  a  fixed,  senile  grin,  a 
grin  so  meaningless  that  it  produced  a  more  con- 
fusing and  chaotic  effect  upon  the  mind  than  would 
have  been  the  case  if  the  expression  had  been  one  of 
ferocity,  however  malignant.  The  under  lip  was 
moist  with  saliva,  and  hung  down  as  if  fixed  there 
by  the  hand  of  a  sculptor.  The  upper  was  drawn 
slightly  back  and  disclosed  the  teeth. 

The  room  was  in  a  state  of  confusion.  Although 
the  morning  sun  streamed  through  the  window  and 
filled  the  little  chamber  with  light,  the  oil-lamp  still 
burned  on  the  table — its  flame,  seen  through  the 
white  globe,  having  the  very  pallor  of  death.  Be- 
side it  on  the  table  stood  two  bottles  of  whisky, 
both  nearly  empty,  some  glasses,  a  carafe  of  water, 
and  a  large  syphon  of  mineral  water.  A  broken 
tumbler  lay  on  the  floor,  the  powdered  fragments 
glittering  like  diamonds  on  the  red  carpet.  A  gun 
was  leaning  against  the  mantelpiece ;  two  of  the  pic- 
tures (prints  of  Morland's  happy  cottage-homes) 
had  been  taken  from  the  wall  and  lay  with  shivered 
glass  in  the  fender.  Here  a  chair  was  cast  upon  its 


KYN  COMES   TO  THE  RESCUE  373 

side,  there  a  drawer  pulled  from  the  writing-table 
stood  gaping  on  the  floor,  its  contents  in  a  state  of 
the  wildest  confusion.  Letters  were  scattered  about 
the  floor,  letters  for  the  most  part  in  writing  easily 
recognizable  by  Dulverton — the  handwriting  of 
Helen  Bladen.  Books,  too,  were  lying  about  the 
disordered  chamber,  and  on  the  carpet  in  front  of 
the  fire  tobacco  ash  was  sprinkled  in  a  gray  trodden 
heap,  mixed  with  the  brown,  damp  cones  knocked 
from  exhausted  pipes.  The  reek  of  the  chamber 
was  of  the  most  revolting  description. 

When  the  earl  caught  sight  of  Dulverton  he 
slowly  brought  a  trembling  hand  to  his  forehead 
and  held  it  there,  thinking.  Dulverton  went  straight 
to  the  window,  seized  the  cord,  and  jerked  open  the 
fanlight  at  the  top;  then  he  went  to  the  table  and 
blew  out  the  lamp. 

"Dulv,"  cried  the  earl  in  a  weak,  trembling  voice, 
"I  forgot,  damme,  I  forgot  all  about  you!  I  re- 
member now.  You're  Kyn's  godfather.  But  his 
mother's  played  me  false,  Dulv.  I've  had  to  turn 
her  away.  You  remember  Helen  Bladen?  Damn 
her,  she's  gone.  I  got  rid  of  her  last  night.  She 
and  the  man." 

He  staggered  back  to  his  armchair,  and  sank 
into  it,  glancing  stupidly  at  Dulverton. 

"Lord  Mane,  you  must  rouse  yourself,"  cried 
Michael.  "Don't  let  your  memory  play  tricks  with 
you.  Your  wife  is  Hannah  Mersey.  You  remem- 
ber— Hannah  Mersey!" 

He  emphasized  the  name,  and  the  earl  started. 


374  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

''Yesterday  somebody  plotted  to  ruin  her.  Your 
child  in  my  arms  knows  about  it.  He  has  suffered 
in  the  same  villainy.  Do  you  hear — somebody 
plotted  to  ruin  your  wife,  your  wife  Hannah  Mer- 
sey. You  fell  into  the  trap.  She  is  innocent.  Your 
wife  is  innocent.  She  is  the  victim  of  villainy." 

Lord  Mane  listened  eagerly,  his  brows  contract- 
ed, his  hand  thrust  forward.  "Say  that  again,"  he 
said.  "My  wife  is  innocent.  Hannah,  little  Kyn's 
governess,  is  the  victim  of  villainy.  Is  that  right, 
Dulv?" 

Dulverton  repeated  it  again. 

"Why,  I  thought  she'd  broken  my  heart !"  whim- 
pered the  earl.  "I  thought  that  I  should  have  to 
live  here  alone,  and  die  here  alone,  and  that  every- 
thin'  had  gone.  Dulv,  I  felt  the  earth  go  from 
under  my  feet.  Everythin'  seemed  to  go.  An'  it's 
all  a  mistake  ?  Tell  her  to  come  to  me." 

"Where  is  she?"  Dulverton  asked. 

The  earl  looked  up.  "Where  is  she?"  he  cried. 
"Why,  isn't  she  here  ? — in  the  castle  ?" 

"Have  you  no  notion  where  she  is?"  Dulverton 
asked.  "Think!" 

The  earl  tapped  his  forehead  with  his  fingers.  "I 
remember  something.  Yes,  I  remember  something, 
Dulv.  She  went  away  with  that  fellow  Bolt;  I  re- 
member it  well." 

"Where  did  you  see  her  last?" 

"It  was  at  the  door,  when  the  storm  was  raging. 
Yes,  I  remember  it  very  well.  I  drove  her  out  into 
the  night." 


KYN   COMES  TO  THE  RESCUE  375 

"Again  and  again  did  Dulverton  strive  to  rouse 
the  fettered  senses  of  the  earl  to  some  degree  of 
activity,  but  all  his  efforts  were  in  vain.  The  old 
man,  mumbling  in  his  chair,  tapping  his  forehead, 
grinning  like  one  of  Flaxman's  dogs  of  the  Inferno, 
could  only  remember  that  he  had  turned  his  wife 
away,  with  the  man  Bolt,  and  that  a  storm  was 
raging. 

While  Dulverton  was  plying  his  question,  and 
the  broken  old  man  was  tapping  his  forehead,  the 
door  suddenly  swung  open,  and  Mrs.  Whittle 
rushed  into  the  room. 

"Where  is  he  ?"  she  cried,  striding  threateningly 
towards  the  earl.  "What  have  you  done  to  him? 
Where  have  you  hidden  him?" 

Her  eyes  flashed  fire,  and  she  raised  her  arm  as 
if  to  strike  the  old  man  in  the  frenzy  of  her  wrath. 
Then  she  saw  Dulverton  with  Kyn  in  his  arms,  and 
started  back  for  a  moment.  But  only  for  a  moment. 
The  next  instant  she  was  bending  her  black  pas- 
sionate face  over  the  cowering  old  man,  repeating 
her  question  with  a  ferocity  all  the  more  terrifying 
for  its  half  suppression. 

"You  shall  tell  me  where  he  is  before  I  leave 
your  side,"  she  said,  between  set  teeth.  "You 
know  where  he  is,  and  where  she  is,  too.  Tell  me 
where  they  are!  Do  you  hear?  Tell  me  where 
they  are !" 

Dulverton  came  forward,  and  touched  her  on  the 
shoulder.  "Who  are  you  inquiring  about  ?"  he  said 
sternly. 


376  THE   FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

She  looked  up  fiercely  and  answered:  "What  is 
that  to  you?" 

"Be  careful  how  you  speak,"  he  answered  angrily. 

She  laughed,  a  brief,  grating,  mocking  laugh, 

and  turned  once  more  to  the  earl.    "Rouse  yourself 

and  answer  me,  you  drunken  old  man.    Where  have 

you  sent  him?    Where  has  he  gone?" 

Dulverton  came  between  her  and  the  earl.  "You 
forget  yourself,"  he  said  quietly.  "If  you  do  not 
speak  respectfully  I  shall  turn  you  out  of  this 
room." 

She  looked  at  him  with  black  hatred  in  her  eyes. 
"You !  You  turn  me  out !  With  her  child  in  your 
arms !  Bah !  are  my  claims  to  be  weighed  with 
yours  ?" 

Before  she  could  resume  her  attack  on  Lord 
Mane,  Dulverton  forced  her  back.  "My  object  is 
the  same  as  yours,"  he  said  sternly ;  "but  if  you  do 
not  control  yourself  I  shall  ring  this  bell  and  order 
the  footman  to  take  you  out  of  the  room." 

She  held  her  peace,  and  looked  at  him  narrowly 
to  see  if  he  meant  what  he  said. 

"You  want  to  discover  where  your  accomplice, 
Mr.  Oliver  Bolt,  is  to  be  found,"  said  Dulverton. 
"I  want  to  discover  where  the  Countess  of  Mane 
is.  Our  object  is  the  same,  then.  Now,  keep  si- 
lence till  I  bid  you  speak." 

He  spoke  with  the  stern,  ringing  tones  of  one 
whose  due  is  instant  and  implicit  obedience,  and 
the  woman  cowered  before  him.  Then  he  turned  to 
the  earl.  But  to  all  his  questions  the  stricken  old 


KYN  COMES   TO  THE  RESCUE  377 

man,  tapping  his  forehead  and  knitting  his  brows, 
could  only  answer  that  he  had  seen  them  go,  those 
two,  out  into  the  storm,  and  that  he  had  shut  the 
door  on  them. 

At  last,  having  learned  from  Mrs.  Whittle  that 
neither  Oliver  Bolt  nor  the  countess  had  been  seen" 
at  the  railway  station,  Dulverton  determined  to 
organize  a  search  through  the  cottages  on  the  es- 
tate. He  could  not  doubt  that  they  had  left  the 
castle,  and  the  earl's  positive  and  reiterated  state- 
ment concerning  the  storm  and  the  shutting  of  the 
door  confirmed  him  in  the  theory.  But  why  had 
they  not  returned?  Was  the  boy's  story  only  an 
imagination,  and  was  Hannah,  after  all,  guilty  of 
the  earl's  charge? 

Dulverton  sent  the  housekeeper  forth  to  inquire 
at  certain  cottages  in  the  park  whether  Mr.  Bolt 
had  been  seen  that  night,  and  then  closing  the  door 
he  turned  all  his  attention  to  Kyn. 

"Now  I  want  you  to  tell  me  everything  about 
yesterday,"  he  said.  "See  if  you  can  remember 
everything  that  happened,  like  a  very  clever  boy." 
The  child's  eyes  brightened.  "I  saw  Mr.  Bolt  in 
the  wood  with  Mrs.  Whittle  before  yesterday,  but 
yesterday  I  went  there  to  look  again,  and  I  fell 
asleep.  When  I  woke  up,  godpapa,  I  saw  Mr.  Bolt 
walking  to  the  castle,  and  it  was  lunch-time,  and  no 
one  was  there  to  stop  him.  And  when  I  got  in  my 
papa  was  angry  because  I  was  so  late,  and  he  sent 

me  to  have  my  lunch  in  Mrs.  Whittle's  room " 

The  earl  interrupted.    "You  remember  we  made 


378  THE   FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 

it  up,  Kyn !  Don't  you  remember,  we  made  it  up, 
an'  she  saw  us  on  the  stairs,  an'  then  I  took  you 
round  Kyn's  Way?" 

"No,  you  didn't,  papa;  you  were  going  to,  but 
Mrs.  Whittle  came  and  whispered  something,  and 
then  she  made  me  go  downstairs,  and  you  ran  away 
from  me.  And  then  I  heard  you  beating  on  mam- 
ma's door,  and  I  heard  you  shouting,  and  I  thought 
Mr.  Bolt  was  killing  her,  so  I  ran  upstairs;  but 
Mrs.  Whittle" — he  shuddered — "caught  me,  and 
put  her  hand  on  my  mouth,  and  carried  me  to  her 
room.  And  I  cried  there,  and  screamed  to  you  and 
mamma,  and  she  beat  me  and  said  she'd  kill  me. 
And  so  I  didn't  go  to  Kyn's  Way  after  all, 
did  I?" 

The  earl  tapped  his  forehead.  "I  remember  open- 
in'  both  doors,  Kyn;  an'  I  remember  seein'  the 
lightning'  jumpin'  about  inside.  Don't  you  remem- 
ber that,  too  ?" 

The  boy  shook  his  head.  "Perhaps,"  he  said, 
looking  at  Dulverton,  "perhaps  Mr.  Bolt  has  shut 
my  mother  in  Kyn's  Way." 

Dulverton  started.  "By  George,  Kyn !"  he  cried, 
"you  may  have  hit  it !"  He  went  over  to  the  earl's 
chair.  "Don't  let  memory  beat  you,  Lord  Mane; 
try  once  more.  Did  you  lock  Lady  Mane  in  this 
Kyn's  Way?" 

The  earl  fumbled  in  his  pocket  and  drew  forth  his 
gold  toothpick.  Then  his  trembling  fingers  re- 
turned to  the  pocket,  and  he  pulled  out  the  key  of 
Kyn's  Way.  The  grin  died  from  his  mouth.  His 


KYN   COMES   TO  THE  RESCUE  379 

brows  became  knotted ;  he  pursed  his  lips ;  he  beat 
the  ash-sprinkled  carpet  with  his  foot. 

"There's  the  key,"  he  said  softly.  "The  only  one 
in  the  world.  When  I  die  it'll  belong  to  Kyn.  Now 
who  was  it  went  there  with  me  yesterday?"  He 
paused  for  a  long  time,  and  Dulverton  encouraged 
him  gently  to  think  again. 

"Let  us  go  and  look  for  mamma,"  pleaded  the 
child.  "I  know  the  way  to  the  door,  but  you  must 
bring  a  candle,  godpapa,  because  it's  most  dread- 
fully dark — oh,  much  darker  than  the  night." 

"Brave  words,  Kyn!"  said  Dulverton,  and,  tak- 
ing the  key  from  the  willing  hand  of  Lord  Mane, 
he  left  the  room. 

But  the  child  was  too  ill  for  such  an  enterprise, 
and  therefore,  when  Dulverton  had  been  shown 
where  the  door  of  Kyn's  Way  was  situated,  he  gave 
the  boy  over  to  the  charge  of  a  footman,  and, 
armed  with  a  candle,  returned  once  more  to  the 
mysterious  door. 

The  key  turned  easily  in  the  lock ;  at  the  second 
tug  the  heavy  safe-like  door  pulled  open ;  and  Dul- 
verton stood  before  the  other  keyless  door.  He 
was  not  long  in  discovering  the  large  central  bolt, 
and  pushing  this  back,  he  found  that  the  door 
opened  inwards  easily  enough.  He  stood  in  the 
small  circle  chamber  lighted  by  the  narrow  loophole 
high  up  in  the  walls. 

Not  a  sound  was  to  be  heard,  and  Dulverton 
feared  that  Kyn's  idea  was  vain  after  all.  Not  a 


380  THE    FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

sound  of  any  kind ;  not  a  sign  on  floor  or  wall 
of  human  being  having  been  there  for  centuries. 

Dulverton  lighted  the  candle  and  went  slowly 
down  the  tunnel,  listening  with  eager  intentness 
for  the  slightest  sound.  He  reached  the  dead  wall, 
the  seven  stone  steps,  the  second  circular  chamber. 
Not  a  sound,  not  a  sign.  He  continued  his  journey 
with  sinking  heart. 

Half-way  down  this  next  tunnel,  however,  he 
heard  a  light  cry.  He  stopped  and  held  the  candle 
high  above  his  head,  peering  into  the  darkness. 
Then  he  saw  Lady  Mane  approaching  him — white 
as  death,  with  her  dark  eyes  staring  at  him  as  if 
she  walked  in  her  sleep.  He  waited,  and  she  ap- 
proached. 

"You!"  she  whispered. 

"There's  been  some  terrible  mistake,"  he  said,  in 
a  kind,  soothing  tone. 

"Yes!"  she  repeated,  still  looking  at  him  with 
that  glazed  expression  in  her  large  luminous  dark 
eyes. 

"I  have  come  to  take  you  out  of  this  place,"  he 
answered.  "There  was  no  one  else  to  do  it.  Lord 
Mane  is  ill." 

"You — you  have  saved  me !"  she  said  wonder- 
ingly.  Then  she  drew  in  her  breath  with  a  little 
cry,  fell  forward,  and  flung  her  arms  onto  his  shoul- 
ders, resting  her  head  upon  his  bosom.  It  was  the 
fulfilment  of  her  dream  to  find  herself  in  his  em- 
brace, with  those  strong  arms  supporting  her.  All 
thoughts  of  her  terrible  imprisonment,  all  thoughts 


KYN  COMES  TO  THE  RESCUE  381 

of  her  rescue,  vanished,  died  away,  in  the  lotus-like 
peace  which  now  flooded  her  mind.  She  was  near 
the  man  she  loved ;  resting  on  his  breast ;  his  arms 
about  her  waist ;  her  face  moved  with  the  rise  and 
fall  of  his  bosom.  She  clung  there,  sighing  de- 
liciously,  thinking  of  nothing. 

And  then  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  arm  about 
her  waist  tightened,  that  she  was  drawn  gently 
nearer  to  his  embrace,  that  warm  breath  stirred  the 
tresses  of  her  hair.  She  shut  her  eyes,  wondering 
if  he  was  kissing  her  hair.  O  dream,  too  beautiful, 
too  fond !  This  man  whom  she  had  wronged,  whose 
life  was  wrecked  by  her  silence,  whose  sun  could 
shine  again  at  one  word  from  her — this  man,  this 
strong  and  kingly  knight,  to  fold  her  nearer  to  his 
breast,  to  kiss  her  hair!  God,  how  he  must  hate 
her! 

She  struggled  away,  and  looked  breathlessly  into 
his  eyes,  her  cheeks  flaming,  her  lips  still  parted  in 
the  bliss  of  her  dream.  He  approached  her,  and  she 
saw  that  his  eyes  were  shining  too — shining  as  she 
had  never  seen  them  shine  before,  and  that  his  face 
was  deadly  white. 

"You  must  let  me  take  you  away,"  he  said,  and 
his  voice  trembled. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "you  must  take  me  away." 

"Will  you  let  me  support  you?  You  are  very 
weak."  He  held  the  candle  in  his  left  hand,  and 
passed  his  right  arm  round  her  waist.  She  felt  the 
iron  strength  of  that  support,  and  sighed. 


382  THE    FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

There  was  a  slight  move  behind  them,  and  both 
turned  to  look  round.  Oliver  Bolt  stood  there. 

"Not  the  first  Lady  Mane  who  has  been  in  your 
arms  ?"  he  said  to  Dulverton,  trying  to  laugh  scorn- 
fully. 

"Not  the  first  Lady  Mane  you  have  tried  to  ruin, 
sir,"  Dulverton  answered,  with  a  menacing  look. 

"Take  me  away,"  she  whispered.    "I  fear  him." 

"Have  no  fear,"  Dulverton  answered,  and  his  arm 
imparted  something  of  his  strength  to  her  mind. 

"I  am  not  prepared  to  deny  responsibility  in  the 
second  case,"  Bolt  answered ;  "but  in  the  first  case 
I  was  a  mere  witness — not  the  co-respondent.  An 
infinitely  more  eminent  and  respectable  person 
played  the  leading  role  in  that  pretty  drawing-room 
comedy."  He  tried  to  speak  light-heartedly,  but 
the  imprisonment  had  told  on  his  nerves. 

Dulverton's  voice  was  low  and  even  when  he  re- 
plied to  this  brutal  innuendo.  "I  wish  to  hold  no 
conversation  with  you,"  he  said,  "but  it  may  spare 
this  lady's  feelings  if  I  tell  you  that  your  villainy 
has  been  discovered."  Then  he  went  forward  with 
'Hannah  at  his  side. 

"Ah,  I'm  glad  you  are  making  a  move !"  Bolt 
said,  with  an  affectation  of  indifference  to  Dulver- 
ton's warning.  "When  one  has  been  living  like  a 
rat  in  a  tunnel  for  some  considerable  time,  one's 
appetite  is  apt  to  be  one's  first  consideration.  The 
cook  at  the  castle,  however,  is  not  an  artist." 

Dulverton,  who  longed  to  turn  upon  Bolt  and 
inflict  some  chastisement  upon  him  as  would  silence 


KYN   COMES   TO  THE  RESCUE  383 

his  bragging,  kept  perfect  control  of  his  nerves,  and 
led  the  almost  fainting  Hannah  out  of  the  tunnel. 

Once  in  the  corridor  she  revived.  "I  should  like 
to  see  Lord  Mane  at  once !"  she  said  courageously. 
"Then— my  child !" 

"I  will  ask  you  to  follow  us,"  Dulverton  said, 
turning  to  Bolt. 

That  gentleman  bowed  with  a  kind  smile.  "You 
are  on  speaking  terms,  then,  with  the  earl,"  he  said 
pleasantly.  "Come,  there  is  hope  for  me." 


XXVIII 

THE  PRODIGAL  SON 

LORD  MANE,  all  white  and  disheveled,  sat 
in  his  armchair,  a  foot  beating  the  floor  lit- 
tered with  tobacco  ash,  a  hand  extended  before  him 
holding  in  the  palm  his  gold  toothpick.  His  lips 
were  compressed,  his  brows  were  knotted.  Now 
and  then  he  muttered  to  himself.  Now  and  then 
he  shifted  in  his  chair;  but  ever  his  head  was  bent 
down,  ever  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  toothpick.  "I 
have  seen  it  before,"  he  said.  "Let  me  think.  I 
saw  it  yesterday.  I  opened  the  door  with  it;  the 
door  to  Kyn's  Way.  Hannah  was  there,  and  the 
lightnin'  was  there.  Did  I  hear  thunder?  Umph, 
that's  the  point.  I  remember  that  Hannah  stole 
somethin'.  She  took  somethin'  I  wanted  to  keep. 
She  struck  me.  Yes,  I'm  sure  she  struck  me.  I 
can  feel  the  pain  now;  there's  a  scar  somewhere. 
But  Dulv  says  she's  innocent.  That's  the  point. 
It's  very  confusin'.  We  must  ask  Whittle." 

The  door  opened.  Hannah  entered,  followed  by 
Sir  Michael  and  Oliver  Bolt.  He  looked  up,  fixed 
his  eyes  upon  hers  for  a  minute,  then  lowered  them 
and  began  to  cry,  whimpering  like  a  child. 

She  went  to  him  and  held  out  her  hand,  stooping 

with  gentle  tenderness  over  his  cowering  figure. 
384 


THE  PRODIGAL  SON  385 

He  caught  her  hand  between  his,  drew  it  swiftly  to 
his  breast,  and  held  it  there — stroking  it,  caressing 
it,  pressing  it  ever  nearer . 

"I  have  come  back  to  you,"  she  said  gently. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  answered. 

"And  there  is  nothing  to  forget  or  forgive. 

"Ah,  that  is  good.  But  we  must  ask  Whittle. 
.Whittle  will  tell  us.  I  think  I  made  a  mistake.  But 
I  am  glad  you've  come  back.  We  won't  ask  Whit- 
tle. It  doesn't  matter  now  that  you've  found  your 
.way  home.  If  you've  stolen  anythin'  you'll  give  it 
back.  I  think  you've  put  it  back  already.  My  heart 
doesn't  seem  so  empty.  Yes,  we  won't  ask  Whittle. 
Whittle  must  be  kept  away.  She  must  go  to  the 
devil,  she  must,  really." 

Dulverton  placed  a  chair  for  Hannah  beside  the 
earl,  and  then  gently  touched  the  old  man's  shoul- 
der. "There  is  some  business  to  be  gone  through, 
Lord  Mane,"  he  said.  "We  must  do  it  at  once. 
Lady  Mane  is  not  well,  and  this  matter  must  be 
cleared  up  immediately,  so  that  she  may  be  re- 
leased." 

Hannah  bent  nearer  to  her  husband.  "Shall  Sir 
Michael  manage  for  you,  dear?"  she  whispered. 

"No,  no,"  he  said ;  "that  won't  do.  Most  irreg- 
ular. I  must  be  master  in  my  own  house.  No  one 
shall  rule  me."  He  roused  himself,  raised  his  head 
from  his  breast,  and  looked  at  Dulverton.  "What's 
the  business,  Dulv  ?  Tell  me  what  it  is !" 

"In  the  first  place,"  Michael  replied,  "you  want  to 


386  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

know  what  excuse  Mr.  Bolt  means  to  urge  for  being 
in  your  house?" 

The  earl  fixed  his  eyes  on  Oliver.  They  blinked 
fiercely,  and  his  mouth  began  to  work  with  rage. 
Hannah  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  very  white  and 
very  weary.  She  looked  often  at  Dulverton. 

"My  excuse,"  said  Bolt,  "involves  Lady  Mane's 
honor.  Is  it  wise  that  I  should  give  it?" 

"That  is  a  lie,"  Dulverton  said  very  quietly. 

The  earl  bent  forward,  his  eyes  flashing  angrily. 
"Involves  Lady  Mane's  honor !  How  dare  you  say 
that  ?  Dulverton,  what  does  he  mean  ?  He  was  the 
man  who  ruined  my  last  wife.  It  wasn't  you ;  ask 
Griddle,  he'll  tell  you." 

Hannah  laid  a  restraining  hand  on  the  earl's  arm. 
"I  went  to  my  room  yesterday,"  she  said,  with  a 
weary,  tired  sigh,  "and  this  man.  was  there — hiding 
like  a  thief.  Then  you  came  to  the  room." 

Lord  Mane  interrupted.  "Whittle  told  me  to. 
Where's  Whittle  ?  I  must  consult  Whittle.  There's 
no  movin'  till  we  get  hold  of  Whittle." 

"In  the  meantime,"  said  Bolt,  who  was  leaning 
lazily  against  the  wall,  "perhaps  you,  Lady  Mane, 
will  be  good  enough  to  give  me  yesterday's  dinner. 
Fasting  does  not  agree  with  my  constitution.  Re- 
member— forgive  me  for  reminding  you — I  am  still 
Lady  Mane's  guest." 

"You  shall  eat  nothing  in  this  house,"  Hannah 
answered,  "unless  your  accomplice  gives  it  to  you 
out  of  pity." 

"His  accomplice !"  cried  the  earl.    "Are  there  two 


THE  PRODIGAL* SON  387 

of  'em !  This  is  most  confusin'.  Everything  goin' 
round  an'  round.  We  must  have  Whittle  here. 
Dulverton,  please  tell  Whittle  to  come  in  an'  discuss 
the  matter." 

"One  moment,"  Michael  answered,  and  he  strode 
over  to  Bolt.  He  stood  there  before  the  lounging 
Oliver — tall,  and  straight  as  a  lance,  his  face  stern 
and  contemptuous,  his  hands  clenched  at  his  side. 
"Let  me  warn  you,  Mr.  Bolt,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice  that  trembled  with  passion,  "let  me  warn  you 
that  your  villainy  is  known.  Every  lie  that  you 
utter  now  will  make  your  fate  harder.  Every  lie 
that  you  utter  which  touches  the  honor  of  Lady 
Mane  shall  cost  you  a  horsewhipping  at  my  hands. 
Take  care — I  warn  you." 

Hannah  looked  up  with  a  sudden  light  in  her 
eyes.  Had  she  heard  his  words  aright  ?  This  man 
her  deliverer,  this  man  her  knight!  And  had  he 
not  reproached  her  with  his  ruin  and  the  ruin  of  the 
woman  she  supplanted?  "Lady  Mane  is  innocent. 
I  am  innocent."  O  chivalry  greater  than  she  could 
understand !  O  magnanimity  nobler  than  she  could 
endure ! 

She  rose  from  her  chair  and  went  towards  Dul- 
verton; but  at  that  moment  the  door  opened  sud- 
denly and  Mrs.  Whittle  entered  breathless  and 
white. 

The  housekeeper  came  into  the  room  dressed  in 
bonnet  and  cloak,  fresh  from  her  visit  to  the  cot- 
tages. "You  have  found  him!"  she  cried,  as  she 
opened  the  door.  But  as  it  closed,  her  old  calm  re- 


THE   FALL   OF   THE   CURTAIN 

turned,  and  after  resting  her  eyes  on  Bolt  for  one 
fleeting  instant  she  confronted  the  group,  boldly, 
shamelessly,  almost  sternly. 

"Lord  Mane  has  been  waiting  for  you,  Mrs. 
Whittle,"  Bolt  said.  "His  lordship  has  declared, 
with  a  reiteration  a  little  tiring  when  one  is  posi- 
tively consumed  with  hunger,  that  he  can  do  noth- 
ing without  you.  'We  must  have  Whittle'  has  been 
the  burden  of  his  song." 

But  at  the  appearance  of  the  housekeeper  the  old 
man  had  cowered  back  into  his  chair.  His  eyes  were 
bent  down,  the  fierce  firmness  left  his  lips.  One 
hand  moved  restlessly  at  his  side,  as  if  it  sought  for 
something.  Dulverton  whispered  a  word  in  Han- 
nah's ear.  She  went  back  to  her  place  beside  the 
earl  and  took  his  hand  in  hers. 

"You  want  me,  my  lord  ?"  said  the  housekeeper. 

"Not  now,  Whittle,  not  now.    Another  time." 

Hannah  bent  over  the  earl.  "We  must  ask  Mrs. 
Whittle  to  explain,  dear,  how  it  was " 

"On  no  account,  on  no  account,"  interrupted  Lord 
Mane.  "Let  there  be  no  explanations.  Everythin' 
is  to  go  on  as  before." 

"But,  I  must  insist "  Hannah  began. 

"No,  no;  don't  insist,"  the  poor  old  man  cried 
piteously ;  "I  beg  of  you,  I  pray  of  you,  don't  insist. 
There  is  no  need  for  it." 

Mrs.  Whittle  approached  nearer.  "What  does 
her  ladyship  insist  upon  ?" 

Hannah  was  weak  and  weary.  She  was  deadly 
white ;  black  rings  loomed  under  her  eyes  through 


THE  PRODIGAL  SON  389 

the  whiteness  of  her  flesh  like  heavy  bruises.  She 
scarcely  had  the  muscular  strength  to  keep  her  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  threatening  gaze  of  the  housekeeper. 
But  she  roused  herself. 

"I  insist  upon  knowing  why  you  asked  your 
friend  Mr.  Bolt  to  the  castle  ?"  she  said. 

"Is  there  any  need  for  such  an  explanation  ?" 
Bolt  laughed.  "Lord  Mane  has  been  gracious 
enough  to  ask  for  no  explanation  of  my  presence  in 
your  ladyship's  room." 

Dulverton  faced  him.  "I  have  warned  you !"  he 
cried. 

"You  have  threatened  me,"  Bolt  answered.     "I 

have  made  a  note  of  it  for  my  lawyers'  amusement." 

"Threatened  you !"  said  Mrs.  Whittle,  turning  to 

Dulverton  with  angry  effrontery.     "How  dare  you 

threaten  him?    What  do  you  threaten  him  with?" 

"Whittle,  Whittle!"  whispered  the  earl.     "You 

must  not  raise  your  voice.     I  really  can't  have  it. 

You  must  be  quiet  and  respectful.    All  is  forgotten 

an'  forgiven.     Everything  everythin'.     I  can't  say 

more  than  that.    Now  do  go,  an'  leave  me  in  peace." 

"I  agree  with  Lord  Mane,"  said  Bolt,  standing 

clear  of  the  wall ;  "it  is  time  to  end  this  very  painful 

domestic  scene.    All  is  forgotten  and  forgiven,  and 

I  am  hungry." 

"Before  you  go,"  Dulverton  answered,  "there  is 
an  explanation  due  to  Lady  Mane." 

Bolt  raised  his  eyebrows  and  smiled.  "An  ex- 
planation due  to  Lady  Mane  ?"  He  laughed  softly. 
"Pray  tell  me  from  whom?  From  Lord  Mane?" 


390  THE  FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

"From  you,"  said  Dulverton,  "and  from  Mrs. 
Whittle." 

Hannah,  whose  thoughts  were  of  Dulverton, 
whose  eyes  seldom  roved  from  watching  his  com- 
manding face,  roused  herself,  and  looked  at  Mrs. 
Whittle.  "I  insist  on  that  explanation,"  she  said. 

The  housekeeper  turned  to  the  earl.  "Do  you 
hear  that  ?"  she  demanded  scornfully.  "Your  wife, 
who  was  found  by  you  yesterday  with  Mr.  Bolt 
locked  in  her  room,  demands  an  explanation  from 
me?" 

"Nothin'  to  do  with  me,"  said  the  earl.  "Her 
ladyship  manages  everythin'.  You  must  deal  with 
her,  Whittle.  It's  no  use  appealin'  to  me." 

"Oh,  isn't  it?"  said  the  housekeeper  fiercely. 
"Am  I  to  take  my  orders,  then,  from  this  upstart, 
this  governess  who  plotted  and  schemed  to  marry 
you  while  your  wife  was  still  in  the  castle?" 

Hannah  turned  very  pale.  "I  dismiss  you  from 
my  service,"  she  said.  "Your  wages  will  be  paid. 
Go!"  She  shuddered,  and  seemed  as  if  she  were 
about  to  swoon. 

Mrs.  Whittle's  eyes  flashed.  "You  dismiss  me !" 
she  said  between  her  teeth.  "You  dismiss  me!  I 
refuse  to  take  dismissal  from  your  mouth.  Let  the 
earl  speak." 

Dulverton  interposed.  "And  your  accomplice  will 
be  given  into  the  hands  of  the  police,"  he  said 
threateningly.  "I  have  evidence  against  you  b6th." 

The  look  which  flashed  from  the  housekeeper's 
dark  face  as  she  wheeled  round  and  faced  Dulverton 


THE  PRODIGAL  SON  3QI 

was  of  the  most  terrible  description.  Anger  shone 
there,  then  fear,  then  terror,  then  effrontery,  then 
absolute  humility.  It  was  all  there  in  a  second  of 
time,  one  expression  merging  into  the  other  like  the 
colors  of  a  rainbow. 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  hissed. 
"I  have  got  evidence  to  prove  your  complicity 
with  this  man  in  a  serious  crime.     I  mean  that  he 
will  be  arrested,"  Dulverton  answered. 

She  turned  to  the  earl.  "Hear  him!"  she  cried, 
white  and  breathless.  "He  is  going  to  give  your  son 
into  the  hands  of  the  police !" 

The  earl  sprang  from  his  chair,  Hannah  rose  on 
the  same  instant,  Dulverton  followed  their  gaze. 
They  all  looked  fixedly  at  Oliver  Bolt. 

"My  son!"  cried  the  earl.    "Who  is  my  son?" 
The  housekeeper  pointed  to  Bolt. 
"Most  embarrassing,"  laughed  Oliver.    "Really, 
to  meet  one's  father  after  all  these  years,  and  in  a 
scene  of  this  description — most  embarrassing !  For 
father  and  son ;  for  both  of  us,  my  lord — most  em- 
barrassing." 

The  earl  stood  gazing  at  him,  Hannah  at  his  side. 
"You — my  son!"  he  whispered.  "You — my  son!'* 
Then  he  slowly  removed  his  gaze,  and  looked  at  the 
housekeeper.  "Is  this  truth?" 

Dulverton,  whose  heart  went  out  to  Hannah  in 
this  distressing  scene,  looked  at  her.  Her  eyes  were 
fixed  dreamily  upon  his. 

"Yes,  it  is  true,"  said  the  housekeeper  fiercely. 
"For  him  I  have  toiled  all  these  years,  for  him  I 


392  THE   FALL   OF  THE  CURTAIN 

have  lived  and  worked  and  thought.  I  gave  him  a 
good  education.  I  made  him  a  gentleman.  And 
now — now  he  is  to  go  to  prison !  Is  he,  is  he  ?" 

The  earl  whined,  and  sank  back  into  his  chair. 
"I  can't  think  things  out,"  he  complained  queru- 
lously. "Everythin'  's  happenin'  all  at  once.  I  don't 
know  what  all  this  trouble  is  about." 

"Let  me  tell  you,"  said  Dulverton  in  a  strong, 
vigorous  voice.  "This  woman  here  plotted  with  her 
own  son  to  ruin  the  honor  of  Lady  Mane.  Her 
object  evidently  was  to  remove  all  obstacles  from 
her  path  in  obtaining  control  over  your  will.  Her 
son  has  expensive  tastes;  he  is  already  deeply  in 
debt ;  he  dare  not  show  his  face  in  certain  quarters 
of  London." 

"What  if  it  is  true?"  said  the  housekeeper.  "Is 
the  child's  father  going  to  drive  me  out  of  his  house ; 
is  he  going  to  send  his  own  son  to  prison  ?  But  it's 
not  true.  Tell  me  your  evidence.  What  do  you 
mean  by  trying  to  frighten  me?  There's  no  evi- 
dence— none  at  all." 

"He's  my  son,  Dulv,"  cried  the  poor,  broken  old 
man ;  "he's  my  son,  an'  Whittle's  been  a  good  serv- 
ant." 

"Ah!"  cried  the  housekeeper.  "That's  the  word 
of  my  employer.  I  take  my  orders  from  him — from 
no  one  else." 

At  this  point,  just  when  Dulverton  was  at  his 
svits'  end  how  to  proceed,  when  the  earl  was  yield- 
ing every  moment  to  the  housekeeper,  when  Han- 
nah, sick  and  weary,  was  closing  her  eyes  in  half 


THE  PRODIGAL  SON  393 

swoon,  half  sleep — at  this  point  the  door  opened 
with  a  good,  vigorous  swing,  and  Mrs.  Mersey 
bustled  into  the  room  like  a  very  self-important 
turkey-cock. 

"Goodness  gracious !"  she  exclaimed,  looking  at 
Mrs.  Whittle;  "is  this  woman  still  in  the  house?" 
She  turned  to  Hannah  and  the  earl.  "Have  you 
heard  what  she's  done,  have  you  heard  all  her 
wickedness?  And  none  of  you  with  that  poor 
child " 

"My  child!"  cried  Hannah,  springing  forward, 
her  eyes  blazing,  her  cheeks  blanched. 

"That  poor  little  Lord  Kyn,"  said  Mrs.  Mersey. 
"He  saved  you;  he  told  Sir  Michael  where  you 
were  hidden,  and  how  this  wicked  woman  had  plot- 
ted with  that  scoundrel  there.  Oh,  I  know  which  is 
Sir  Michael  and  which  the  scoundrel,  though  I've 
never  seen  either  before.  Yes,  and  he's  just  told 
me  how  she  nearly  murdered  him,  and  if  he  does 
die,  as  die  he  very  likely  may — poor  blessed  darling 
— you,  you  wicked  woman,  shall  hang  as  sure  as 
there's  a  judge  on  the  bench  and  a  rope  on  the 
earth." 

"Kyn  saved  me?"  cried  Hannah,  staggering  back. 

"But  for  him  you'd  have  been  buried  alive,"  re- 
joined the  brisk  Mrs.  Mersey,  "and  buried  alive 
with  a  stigma  resting  on  your  name  which  would 
have  eaten  into  the  earl's  heart  and  poisoned  his 
happiness  till  the  Day  of  Judgment." 

"Kyn — Kyn  saved  me!"  Hannah  repeated,  like 
one  dreaming.  The  thought  staggered  her  under- 


394  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

standing.  Her  love  for  Dulverton,  renewed  by  his 
presence  there  and  by  his  devotion  to  her  cause, 
was  incontinently  cast  on  one  side  by  this  giant  in- 
telligence that  the  child  she  was  murdering  had 
saved  her  life  and  honor.  She  pressed  her  hands  to 
her  eyes,  and  staggered  slowly  backwards.  Dul- 
verton went  to  her  side  and  supported  her.  She 
could  only  gasp,  "Kyn  saved  me."  Then  she  col- 
lected all  her  faculties,  straightened  herself  to  her 
full  height,  and  walked  steadily  to  the  door.  "I 
must  go  to  him,"  she  said,  and  went  out  of  the 
room. 

"And  now,  my  lord,"  said  Mrs.  Mersey,  "you 
must  shake  yourself  together  and  listen  to  me." 

"Yes — yes,"  he  said,  with  a  grateful  smile;  "I'm 
always  willin'  to  do  as  you  tell  me.  I'm  master  of 
my  own  house,  and  you  never  advise  anything  that 
is  wrong.  I'll  listen  to  you.  Certainly,  certainly.'* 

"Turn  that  woman  out  of  the  castle  this  instant," 
said  the  inflexible  matron. 

"Do  you  know  who  I  am  ?"  cried  the  housekeeper. 

"I  can  guess,"  Mrs.  Mersey  answered;  "but  I 
should  hope  you'd  have  the  common  decency  not  to 
mention  it  in  the  hearing  of  honest  folks." 

"That  gentleman,"  said  the  housekeeper,  pointing 
to  Oliver,  "is  the  son  of  Lord  Mane." 

Mrs.  Mersey  never  flinched.  "You  bold-faced 
thing!"  she  cried  promptly.  "Take  yourself  out  of 
the  room,  with  the  evidence  of  your  sin.  It's  an 
insult  to  see  you  here;  it's  lowering  to  hear  you 
talk." 


THE   PRODIGAL  SON  395 

Oliver  Bolt  came  forward.  He  touched  Mrs. 
Whittle  on  the  arm.  "Let  us  go,"  he  said;  "the 
scene  grows  tiresome ;  my  hunger  increases." 

"Tell  them,"  said  Mrs.  Mersey  to  the  earl,  "tell 
them  to  go  instantly.  Don't  suffer  their  presence 
here  another  minute.  Give  the  woman  the  name  of 
your  solicitor;  let  the  lawyers  pay  her  wages.  And 
if  anything  happens  to  that  sweet  angel  of  a  child, 
the  lawyers  will  know  where  to  find  his  murderess." 

Oliver  Bolt  whispered  something  to  Mrs.  Whit- 
tle, and  they  withdrew  to  the  door.  But  there  the 
woman  turned  round.  "What  you  say  is  a  lie,"  she 
said.  "I  never  harmed  the  child.  He  is  half-witted ; 
he  doesn't  know  what  he  says.  See  if  his  evidence 
will  be  taken  by  a  judge !  I'll  go  out  of  this  house, 
but  I'll  have  justice  for  my  son." 

Oliver  held  the  door  open,  and  gently  constrained 
his  mother  to  leave  the  room.  Then  he  turned  and 
made  a  bow  to  the  earl.  "Good-by,  my  dear, 
naughty  papa !"  he  said,  laughing  scornfully. 

"The  beast !"  said  Mrs.  Mersey  as  the  door  shut. 
"And  now  I  must  go  to  that  poor  child." 


XXIX 

THE  CURTAIN  FALLS 

AT  the  bedside  of  stricken  Kyn  the  curtain  de- 
scended on  Hannah's  stage.  The  stroke  of 
God,  which  strikes  away  from  us  all  the  parasitical 
interests  of  life,  leaving  the  soul  naked  under  the 
stars,  solitary  there  between  the  eternal  past  and  the 
eternal  future,  had  been  at  last  and  finally  struck  for 
her.  Every  delusion  fell  away  from  her;  every 
trick  and  falsity  of  life.  Her  eyes  were  opened, 
and  she  knew  that  she  was  naked — naked  under  the 
eternal  stars;  a  soul  newly  awakened  on  a  single 
point  in  the  boundless  infinitude  of  space.  All  the 
rest  was  like  a  dream ;  her  life  in  the  years  behind 
seemed  to  be  but  part  of  an  intangible  phantas- 
magoria, an  unreality — the  mocking  unreality  of  an 
actress's  crown  and  purple.  Now  only  was  she  alive ; 
now  only  for  her  was  life  a  real  and  subjective  ex- 
istence. All  the  rest  had  been  false — the  acting  of 
a  part.  And  she  was  naked.  No  preparations  had 
been  made  to  usher  her  soul  from  the  narrow  con- 
fines of  life's  painted  stage  into  this  illimitable  uni- 
verse, lit  only  by  those  silent  stars,  whose  calm 
atmosphere  undulated  only  to  the  beating  of  angel 
wings.  She  was  there  alone,  uncomprehending, 

terrified.     The  vastness  of  space  chilled  her  poor 
396 


THE   CURTAIN   FALLS  397 

naked  soul ;  the  everness  of  God  crushed  and 
numbed  her  understanding.  She  was  like  Belshaz- 
zar  when,  as  he  sat  drinking  wine  in  the  midst  of  his 
princes,  his  wives,  and  his  concubines,  there  came 
forth  fingers  of  a  man's  hand,  and  wrote  over 
against  the  candlestick  upon  the  plaster  of  the  wall 
of  the  king's  palace.  Or,  like  any  human  being 
living  without  God  in  his  life,  to  whom  the  physi- 
cian suddenly  comes  and  numbers  the  tale  of  his 
days.  The  riddle  of  the  universe  presses  then  for 
answer;  it  burns  itself  into  the  brain;  it  haunts 
the  sleepless  watches  of  the  night;  it  beats  cease- 
lessly at  the  doors  of  the  soul,  "Answer  me,  answer 
me !"  And  he  who  has  no  answer  must  lie  there 
speechless  in  the  aching  silence  of  his  own  soul, 
listening,  with  beaded  brow  and  starting  eyes,  for 
the  first  faint  footfall  of  Death. 

During  the  long  hours  that  Hannah  had  been 
immured  in  the  walls  of  Kyn  Castle  she  had  thought 
of  death,  had  even  implored  consolation  from  her 
fellow-prisoner.  And  his  only  answer  to  all  her 
supplication  had  been  to  heap  high  the  furnace  of  a 
material  hell,  adding  with  the  coarseness  of  modern 
realism  new  tortures  to  the  figurative  pains  of  the 
Christian's  Gehenna.  He  had  done  this  to  taunt 
and  mock  her,  taking  a  savage  pleasure  in  the 
breathless  interest  with  which  she  listened  to  his 
words.  And  she — who,  under  the  blue  sky  with  the 
wind  stirring  the  ivy,  and  the  air  full  of  birds' 
songs,  would  have  laughed  such  a  hell  to  scorn — in 
that  grim  prison,  that  vast  and  wandering  grave, 


39s  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

had  listened  and  believed  it  true.  She  had  cowered 
and  trembled  there  on  the  edge  of  Hades,  peering 
with  stricken  eyes  into  the  leaping  flames,  listening 
with  burning  ears  to  the  long-drawn  wail  of  the 
eternal-lost.  And  why  should  it  not  be  true  ?  Like 
her,  they  had  sinned  willingly;  like  her,  the  ob- 
ject of  all  their  cunning  and  their  lust  had  been  the 
trivial  advantaging  of  themselves.  O  sin,  black  sin, 
to  cause  another  a  moment's  pain  in  cause  so  vile 
and  contemptible!  Yes;  no  punishment  could  be 
too  cruel,  no  destiny  too  mean ! 

Thus  she  had  thought  in  her  living  grave.  But 
with  freedom  came  release  from  hell,  and  she  took 
new  hope.  It  was  only  when  she  realized  that  the 
child  she  had  doomed  to  death  had  been  the  means 
of  saving  her  from  her  terrible  fate,  that  Hannah 
felt  the  earth  slide  away  from  her  like  a  garment, 
and  stood  face  to  face,  not  with  hell,  but  with  God. 
This  intelligence  that  Kyn  had  saved  her  lit  up  her 
mind  with  the  sudden  radiance  of  a  lightning  flash, 
and  it  was  in  that  moment,  on  that  very  instant,  that 
she  realized  for  the  first  time  the  enormity  of  her 
crime,  the  utter  and  irremediable  degradation  of 
her  soul. 

From  that  time  Hannah  devoted  her  life  to  the 
earl's  heir.  She  showed  to  him  an  infinite  tender- 
ness, bestowed  on  him  a  never-wavering  service; 
in  place  of  the  tigerish  love  she  had  felt  for  the  child 
of  her  womb,  there  grew  up  for  this  other  child  a 
love  at  once  beautiful  and  beneficent.  He  loved  to 
have  her  at  his  bedside,  loved  to  feel  her  hand 


THE  CURTAIN   FALLS  399 

passed  soothingly  across  his  brow,  loved  to  hear  her 
voice,  loved  to  watch  her  busying  herself  about  the 
room  in  his  behalf.  She  had  his  bed  brought  into 
her  room,  and  his  lightest  cry  at  night  was  enough 
to  call  her  instantly  from  sleep  to  bend  over  him 
with  the  gentlest,  the  sweetest  solicitude.  Every- 
thing that  could  be  done  to  make  his  confinement 
endurable  she  did.  Everything  that  brought  sweet- 
ness and  happiness  into  the  room  was  her  invention, 
her  labor. 

And  night  by  night,  morning  by  morning,  ay,  and 
many  a  time  through  the  long  waking  day,  she 
would  pray  that  his  life  might  be  spared,  that  the 
consequences  of  her  sin  might  be  put  away  from 
her.  And  the  days  passed,  and  slowly,  very  slowly, 
Kyn's  strength  returned,  the  torpor  left  him,  till  the 
answer  to  her  prayer  seemed  to  grow  under  her 
very  eyes.  Happy,  happy  was  her  heart,  when  she 
saw  the  light  come  back  into  his  eyes,  the  color  of 
life  steal  gradually  into  those  death-white  cheeks. 
She  flung  herself  upon  her  knees,  blessed  heaven  for 
its  bounty,  and  prayed  with  the  eagerness  of  a  soul 
new-enfranchised  from  the  slavery  of  the  world, 
for  a  heart  to  fear  and  love  God  all  the  days  of  her 
life. 

The  swelling  octave  of  her  life's  sonnet  had 
broken  and  spent  itself;  she  was  now  gliding 
dreamfully  on  the  peaceful  ebb  of  the  sestet 


XXX 

"THE  SHOT  WHICH  BRINGS  HER  DOWN" 

IT  was  the  habit  of  Mr.  Haddon  to  rivet  the  at- 
tention of  his  congregation  by  the  curtness  of 
his  text.  On  one  occasion,  I  remember, — if  the 
reader  will  forgive  me  for  a  moment's  rummaging 
among  the  good  parson's  musty  manuscripts— he 
preached  a  sermon  on  the  single  word  "If" — a  ser- 
mon of  thirty  closely  written  pages. 

"My  text,"  he  began,  "is  the  first  word  of  the 
ninth  verse  of  the  first  chapter  of  the  first  Epistle 
General  of  St.  John.  That  sounds  a  great  deal,  my 
brethren,  but  my  text  is  one  word,  a  word  of  two 
letters — If!"  After  that,  who  cannot  see  every 
drowsy  eye  wide-opened  and  turned  towards  the 
pulpit?  Even  the  evangelical  Criddle  pricked  his 
ears. 

On  the  occasion  to  which  we  now  refer,  for  the 
purpose  of  our  narrative,  Mr.  Haddon  had  chosen 
the  words  "God  knows."  The  reader  must  bear- 
with  the  author  while  he  tries  to  summarize  that 
part  of  the  sermon  which  effected  an  influence  in 
our  story.  But  ere  he  enters  on  that  delicate  task, 
let  it  be  recorded  that  Sir  Michael  Dulverton  was 
in  church,  Lord  Escott  and  Miss  Haddon  in  the 
rectory  pew,  and  alone  in  the  solitude  of  the  earl's 

400 


THE  SHOT  WHICH  BRINGS  HER  DOWN  401 

pew  (for  Mrs.  Mersey  could  not  put  up  with  Me. 
Haddon's  ritualistic  wickedness)  Hannah — Hannah, 
a  thousand  times  more  beautiful,  a  thousand  times 
more  pathetic,  a  thousand  times  more  dignified,  now 
that  she  had  laid  by  her  masque  and  was  living  with 
her  own  face  to  the  world,  her  soul  alive  to  the  in- 
fluences of  the  invisible  kingdom  of  spirits. 

Mr.  Haddon's  rosy  face  rivaling  his  scarlet  brow, 
his  shining,  carefully  parted,  black  hair,  his  large 
humorous  eyes,  his  prominent  Fielding  chin,  these 
suggested  nothing  of  the  Loyola  or  Savonarola, 
nothing  of  the  burning  prophet  whose  breast 
throbbed  against  the  iniquity  of  an  evil  and  perverse 
generation.  He  looked  a  very  smooth  and  com- 
fortable gentleman,  one  who  liked  a  country  living, 
and  who  detested  noise  and  hurry  perhaps  more 
than  some  of  the  more  serious  evils  of  life.  Whether 
he  was  sincere  or  not  in  the  denunciations  which 
fluttered  his  congregation  from  Sunday  to  Sunday, 
who  can  say  ?  Perhaps  for  him  the  curtain  was  still 
up,  the  lights  burning  before  him,  and  his  part  but 
half  played  out.  It  is  not  for  us  to  determine. 

"God  knows !"  he  cried,  looking  from  side  to  side. 
"That's  a  phrase  everyone  has  heard.  We  ask  a 
man  who  did  this,  or  who  said  that.  He  answers, 
'God  knows.'  It  is  said  contemptuously,  blasphem- 
ously. It  means — nobody  knows.  But  God  does 
know.  Yes,  He  knows  everything.  He  knows  more 
of  the  wife  than  the  husband  knows ;  more  of  the 
husband  than  the  wife  knows.  He  knows  the  heart ; 
He  knows  the  secret  sins,  the  secret  thoughts.  How 


402  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN1 

many  people  are  there,  honored  members  of  society, 
received  at  every  fireside  with  open  arms,  who  pass 
among  men  as  honorable,  upright,  pure,  and  un- 
selfish— who  are  known  to  God  as  liars  and  adulter- 
ers, sinners  almost  beyond  the  reach  of  redemp- 
tion?" 

He  paused  and  leaned  over  the  pulpit.  "How 
many  of  you  here,"  he  said  slowly,  "have  secret 
sins  ?  How  many  of  you  live  two  lives  ?  How  many 
of  you  steal  away  from  your  homes  to  commit  in 
secret  the  sin  none  of  us  knows  of?  God  knows! 
God  knows  those  sins.  He  reads  your  secret 
thoughts ;  He  sees  your  secret  actions.  God  knows 
that  your  works  are  evil ;  and  it  is  the  Eternal  God, 
the  Dispenser  of  eternal  justice,  you  defy ;  your  own 
powerless  fellow-sinners  whom  you  fear  and  con- 
ciliate with  hypocrisy." 

The  rest  of  his  sermon  followed  on  these  lines, 
and  Mr.  Haddon  banged  the  ledge  of  the  pulpit, 
craned  over  his  desk,  and  became  more  and  more 
excited,  as  he  saw  face  after  face  growing  scarlet, 
head  after  head  being  bowed,  the  whole  congrega- 
tion shifting  in  their  seats  like  boats  riding  a-t  anchor 
on  a  rippling  sea. 

Hannah  was  not  one  of  those  who  bowed  her  head 
and  shrank  from  the  preacher's  gaze,  but  to  no  one 
in  the  little  village  church  on  that  autumn  Sunday 
did  the  words  strike  home  with  so  deep  a  meaning. 
It  suggested  a  new  thought;  presented  before  her 
mind  a  new  problem. 

Was  sin — however  sincerely  repented — forgiven, 


THE  SHOT  WHICH  BRINGS  HER  DOWN  403 

and  its  consequences  effaced,  without  confession? 
Was  it  necessary  to  her  salvation  that  she  put 
Michael  Dulverton  right  before  the  world,  abdicate 
her  own  false  position  as  the  wife  of  Lord  Mane? 
She  shuddered  at  the  thought.  Yet  forgiveness  was 
not  what  she  sought  alone.  She  longed  for  the 
peace  which  passeth  all  understanding;  and  now 
that  the  prayer  uttered  long  ago  under  the  roof  of 
old  Gregory  Brough  had  been  answered,  now  that 
she  desired  Goodness,  loved  it  beyond  all  else  in  life, 
she  dared  not  live  in  a  false  peace,  dared  not  trifle 
with  her  repentance. 

She  walked  home  turning  this  thought  over  in  her 
mind.  At  lunch — answering  Mrs.  Mersey's  cheer- 
ful questions  with  a  smile,  tending  the  old,  tremu- 
lous earl  like  a  mother,  encouraging  little  Kyn  to 
talk  to  her — she  was  speaking  with  herself  in  secret, 
asking  her  soul :  "Must  I  confess  my  sin  before  the 
world?" 

In  the  afternoon,  as  she  sat  on  one  of  the  ter- 
races by  Lord  Mane's  bath-chair,  talking  to  the 
shattered  old  man  of  the  harvest  and  of  the  sick 
people  in  the  village — rocking,  in  the  beautiful 
phrase,  the  cradle  of  declining  age — she  was  hold- 
ing the  same  converse  with  her  soul.  At  night, 
lying  on  her  sleepless  pillow,  she  prayed  that  God 
would  send  an  angel  out  of  heaven  to  guide  her  feet 
aright,  to  make  this  dark  mystery  plain. 

On  the  following  afternoon,  as  was  her  wont,  she 
went  to  sit  with  Lady  Dulverton,  now  fast  failing, 
now  one  of  her  dearest  friends.  The  old  lady  sat 


404  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

indoors  by  an  open  window,  a  shawl  of  the  whitest 
wool  over  her  shoulders,  her  poor,  thin,  wrinkled 
hands  lying  weakly  in  her  lap. 

"You  are  feeling  better  to-day?"  Hannah  asked, 
when  she  had  kissed  the  old  lady's  cheek. 

She  smiled  sadly  and  slightly  nodded  her  head. 
"I  do  not  wish  to  feel  better,  my  dear,"  she  said  very 
quietly.  "It  is  too  late  now.  He  will  never  re- 
trieve the  past.  I  have  nothing  to  live  for." 

"But  you  know  he  is  innocent,"  Hannah  an- 
swered, her  heart  beating  nervously. 

"I  know,  too,  that  he  is  unhappy,"  she  answered, 
in  the  same  sad,  far-away  tones. 

"Ah !  he  is  unhappy  ?" 

The  old  lady  sighed.  "His  efforts  to  regain  the 
old  influence  have  failed.  A  man  who  lives  with  a 
broken  ambition  can  never  be  happy." 

"He  regrets  the  loss  of  his  ambition  ?" 

"His  life  is  now  only  regret.  It  cannot  be  any- 
thing else." 

Hannah  looked  through  the  open  window  across 
the  smooth  green  lawns  to  the  calm  lake  with  the 
unstirred  silver  birches  beyond.  "Is  he  not  happy 
with  you  in  the  peace  of  this  home?"  she  asked, 
almost  pleadingly. 

"A  dead  peace !  A  dead  peace !"  sighed  the  old 
lady.  Then  she  weakly  lifted  her  bowed  head, 
smiled  through  the  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  patted 
Hannah's  hands.  "But  we  must  not  be  miserable. 
It  is  very  good  of  you  to  come  and  sit  with  me.  Tell 


THE  SHOT  WHICH  BRINGS  HER  DOWN  405 

me  about  little  Valentine.  He  is  growing  a  fine 
boy?" 

And  Hannah  talked  to  the  old  lady  till  the  heat 
of  the  afternoon  fell  panting  into  the  calm  of  even- 
tide, and  a  great  hush  fell  upon  the  land. 

She  was  walking  home  in  this  exquisite  autumn 
calm,  her  soul  more  greatly  troubled  than  before, 
when  she  encountered  Michael  Dulverton.  He 
thanked  her,  as  he  had  often  thanked  her,  for  sitting 
with  his  well-beloved  mother,  and  then  it  seemed  to 
her  that  he  was  about  to  leave  her  and  return  to  his 
home. 

"Will  you  walk  with  me  across  the  park?"  she 
said  quietly.  "I  have  something  I  must  ask  you." 

He  was  surprised  by  the  request,  for  since  their 
meeting  in  Kyn's  Way  she  had  always  seemed  to 
shun  him. 

They  walked  over  the  wide,  undulating  park,  side 
by  side,  now  passing  under  the  wide-spreading 
branches  of  oak  and  elm,  now  coming  into  spacious, 
uninterrupted  stretches  of  greensward.  The  noise 
of  laborers  amid  the  golden  sheaves  came  to  them  on 
the  still  air  from  the  distant  upland.  The  song  of 
birds  floated  above  them ;  from  the  elms  about  the 
homestead  came  the  softened  cawing  of  the  rookery. 

"You  were  in  church  yesterday,"  she  said;  "you 
heard  Mr.  Haddon's  sermon.  I  want  to  ask  you  a 
question  about  it." 

"I  am  no  doctor  of  divinity,"  he  answered,  smil- 
ing. 

"I  am  very  much  in  earnest,"  she  said  quietly. 


406  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

"Forgive  me,"  he  muttered  quickly. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said,  "is  a  secret  sin,  a  sin  repented 
of,  and  long  since  hated,  forgiven  without  confes- 
sion?" 

"John  Selden  declares,"  he  said,  after  a  pause, 
"that  the  difference  between  us  and  the  Papists  is 
that  while  we  both  insist  on  the  necessity  for  con- 
trition, the  Papists — the  word  is  Selden's — make 
Confession  a  part  of  contrition.  Rome  holds  that  a 
man  is  not  sufficiently  contrite  till  he  has  confessed 
his  sins  to  a  priest.  That  is  Selden's  view — 'the 
chief  of  learned  men/  as  Milton  called  him.  I  know 
him  almost  by  heart,  and  the  quotation  is,  I  think, 
quite  correct." 

"But  your  view?" 

"For  myself,  I  hate  the  idea  of  mortal  interposi- 
tion between  a  man  and  his  Creator.  I  am  a 
Protestant  of  the  Protestants,  solely  on  that  score." 

"There  need  be  no  confession,  then?" 

"One  knows  oneself  when  one  is  sincerely  repent- 
ant," he  answered.  "The  forgiveness  of  sins  is  the 
prerogative  of  God ;  no  man  can  secure  that  for  an- 
other." 

"But  ought  there  not  to  be  confession  to  those  we 
have  wronged?" 

"It  is  difficult  to  answer  that  question,"  he  an- 
swered thoughtfully. 

They  were  walking  very  slowly  across  the  uneven 
ground  of  the  park,  and  at  this  point  Hannah  laid 
her  hand  lightly  upon  his  arm.  She  could  bear  no 
longer  the  intolerable  weight  of  her  overloaded  con- 


THE  SHOT  WHICH  BRINGS  HER  DOWN  407 

science.  This  man  who  had  placed  in  her  hands  on 
the  morning  of  her  triumph  a  rebuke  that  had  never 
been  forgotten  even  in  the  full  flood  of  her  glory — 
this  man  who  had  been  so  generous  and  chivalrous 
in  her  behalf,  though  he  must  have  hated  and  de- 
spised her — this  man  must  not  go  on  living  in  the 
belief  that  she  was  still  insincere,  still  that  hideous 
being  at  whose  past  even  now  she  stood  aghast. 
She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  they  stopped, 
facing  each  other. 

"In  my  own  case?"  she  asked. 

"I  do  not  understand." 

"Try  and  make  it  easy  for  me!"  she  pleaded, 
meeting  the  steady  gaze  of  his  grave  eyes.  "You 
know  how  I  have  sinned.  You  know  how  I  have 
kept  silence." 

A  light  shone  in  his  eyes;  he  drew  his  breath  in 
quickly.  "And  you  would  confess  it  now?"  he 
said.  "Oh,  no ;  let  him  live  in  peace.  But  why  did 
you  not  wait?  Why,  why  were  you  carried  so 
swiftly  away?  Nothing  could  repay  what  the  grati- 
fication of  a  moment's  ambition  must  inevitably  ex- 
act. Did  you  not  realize  that  at  the  moment  ?" 

She  looked  at  him  bewildered.  "I  mean,"  she 
said,  "my  sin  against  you." 

"I  know !"  he  cried.  "God !  have  1  not  lived  with 
it  all  these  many  days!"  He  came  nearer,  and 
looked  down  into  her  eyes  with  a  great  yearning. 
"Knowing  what  you  knew  you  sinned  against  me ; 
at  first — oh,  for  long  days — I  thought  you  did  not 
know.  I  thought  it  was  the  creation  of  my  own 


408  THE   FALL  OF  THE   CURTAIN 

thought,  and  I  fought  against  it  in  secret,  and  re- 
turned to  public  life  that  I  might  forget  it.  You 
knew  it,  you  knew  it,  and  yet  you  took  that  step !" 

"I  knew  it,"  she  said.  "I  was  mad.  I  was  not 
my  real  self.  I  think  my  soul  must  have  been  sleep- 
ing." 

"You  knew  it,"  he  said  again,  very  pale,  his  eyes 
dull  with  pain. 

"From  the  first  I  knew  it,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  Hannah !"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  almost  a  wail, 
"why  did  you  break  my  heart  ?" 

She  shrank  back,  gazing  like  a  hunted  creature 
into  his  eyes.  "What  do  you  mean?"  she  said 
quickly ;  "what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"If  from  the  first  you  loved  me,  if  from  the  first 
you  knew  I  loved  you " 

She  swayed,  and  stretched  out  her  arms.  He 
caught  her  hands  and  held  them. 

The  silence  of  night  closed  round  about  them. 
No  song  of  bird  broke  the  perfect  all-dwelling  still- 
ness of  the  autumn  twilight.  The  last  wagon  had 
borne  its  golden  load  through  the  green  lanes,  and 
now  the  last  rays  of  the  sun  lingered  with  a  re- 
gretful glory  on  the  few  sheaves  still  standing  on 
the  deserted  upland.  It  was  eventide,  such  an  even- 
ing as  only  autumn  can  give  to  the  earth — calm, 
peaceful,  full  of  a  golden  reflection. 

"I  sent  you  a  note  on  the  very  morning  of  that 
miserable  day.  My  first  thought  was  of  you.  I 
had  seen  you  that  evening  in  the  castle,  I  had 
watched  you  moving  among  those  people  like  an 


THE  SHOT  WHICH  BRINGS  HER  DOWN  4°9 

angel  of  purity  among  the  lost,  and  the  love  that 
had  been  growing  from  the  first  moment  when  our 
eyes  met  became  then  strong  and  all-powerful.  It 
was  of  you  I  thought  when  I  found  myself  involved 
in  that  terrible  scene.  You,  you  had  to  be  told  im- 
mediately that  I  was  innocent.  That  you  should 
have  doubted  my  honor  for  a  moment  was  a  thought 
too  horrible.  But  you  knew  I  was  without  re- 
proach? There  was  no  need  for  my  note?  And 
yet— yet " 

"If  I  had  known  you  loved  me!  Oh,  if  I  had 
known  that !"  she  cried  in  a  wail.  "I  thought  your 
note  was  a  rebuke.  I  thought  you  wanted  to  rob 
me  of  my  triumph.  For  I  knew  you  were  innocent. 
I  loved  you,  but  I  never  thought  you  loved  me.  It 
was  I  who  sent  the  husband  to  the  wife's  room " 

"You !"    He  fell  back. 

"But  not  that  you  should  suffer.  I  sent  him  that 
the  guilty  man  might  be  found,  and  that  I  might 
reign  there.  When  I  knew  your  honor  was  involved 
it  nearly  killed  me.  You  must  believe  that — oh, 
believe  that !  But  I  have  kept  silence  all  these  years. 
I  kept  silence  then,  because  of  my  ambition;  it  has 
kept  me  silent  since.  Now  I  will  make  reparation." 

He  came  near  to  her.  "No.  For  my  happiness, 
which  is  your  happiness,  you  shall  never  speak." 

"For  your  mother's?" 

"You  shall  never  speak,"  he  answered.  "Let  the 
dead  past  bury  its  dead.  Let  repentance  be  of  the 
heart;  if  I  have  to  forgive  I  forgive  freely."  His 


410  THE   FALL   OF  THE   CURTAIN 

voice  shook ;  his  jaws  were  tight  locked.  "But  you 
shall  tell  me  again — one  thing.  You  loved  me?" 

She  bowed  her  head. 

"Say  it !"  he  pleaded  in  a  breaking  voice. 

*'I  loved  you — I  love  you,"  she  answered. 

With  these  words  they  went  their  separate  ways. 
Not  another  word  was  uttered,  not  a  look  exchanged. 
Each  with  eyes  straining  into  the  dusk  passed  on — 
the  one  that  way,  the  other  this :  two  souls  that  had 
touched,  and  at  the  touch  swiftly  parted  asunder. 
The  last  sunbeams  drew  backward  from  the  earth, 
lights  shone  in  the  castle,  and  the  large  harvest 
moon,  climbing  above  the  slumbering  woods,  threw 
its  soft  silver  rays  upon  the  few  sheaves  on  the 
upland. 

"So  the  year's  done   with! 

(Love  me  for  ever!) 
All  March  begun  with! 

April's  endeavor 
May-wreaths  that  bound  me 

June  needs  must  sever ! 
Now  snows  fall  round  me, 

Quenching  June's  fever — 

(Love  me  for  ever!)" 

THE  END. 


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Meryl.    By  Wm.  Tillinghast  Eldredge. 

Old,  Old  Story,  The.    By  Rosa  Nouchette  Carey. 

Quest  Eternal,  The.    By  Will  Lillibridge. 

Silver  Blade,  The.    By  Charles  E.  Walk. 

St.  Elmo.  (Illustrated  Edition.)    By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

Uncle  William.    By  Jennette  Lee. 

Under  the  Red  Robe.    By  Stanley  J.  Weyman. 


0001,5s'-' 


